Not Giving It Back
by casket4mytears
Summary: After a traumatic event, Betty Cooper is shrugging off the confines of her mother's rules and living life on her terms: as the co-lead singer of fledgling rock band, Sweetwater. But when even her bandmates won't let her change her Yes Girl ways, Betty is angry, alone and open to suggestions from pink-haired strangers. This Friday night is about to change EVERYTHING... Bughead AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Welcome to my little Bughead College AU! Establishing canon for this tale: Betty and Veronica are besties dating back to high school. Veronica and Betty met Archie at college. Jughead is... you'll see.**

 **For the purposes of this story, I'll be borrowing real songs as the songs of Sweetwater. All of Betty's penned songs are tunes by The Beaches, a wicked Canadian band that I highly recommend. Archie's songs vary in source and will be named.**

 **Song Credits (In Order):**

 **Back of my Heart - The Beaches**

 **Boy Wonder - The Beaches**

 **Disclaimer: Not my chess board - just shuffling the pieces for a few turns. Also, please note the rating is a hard T for this tale.**

* * *

"Alright, let's try it again," Betty announced, shrugging on her guitar. "Ronnie, you're good with bass?"

Her best friend tossed her black hair over her shoulder and grinned. "I got you, B. Let's do it."

It was past eight, well into their scheduled band practice, but their co-lead singer and guitarist Archie Andrews had apparently decided to take his sweet time getting there. And while yeah, he'd been held up at football practice, Betty was still pissed off. She would have rather rescheduled entirely, particularly since their temporary drummer Valerie was already nudging them to find a full-time replacement.

Of course he'd blown them off on the night she'd finally brought a song of her own to the table. _Asshole_.

Valerie counted them in with her sticks and Betty's fingers flew on the opening riff, punchy and punk-infused. It was a straight-up rocker with an almost marching beat to the verses, boiling over in the chorus. It had less flourish than Archie's compositions, but Betty felt a feisty, playful vibe suited the tune.

Stepping to the mic, she began to sing. The lyrics had poured out of her last night, after her ex-boyfriend Reggie had called her up to tell her—once again—that she was wasting her time in a band. A creaking noise behind her announced the arrival of Archie _(finally),_ and Betty found herself singing even louder:

 _"I can feel you tapping on the brick wall  
I can hear you kick and yell  
And tell me to come down  
But I think I'm gonna stay here for a while  
I know things are looking up  
I don't know how long, I'll try my luck  
I just know someday, I'm gonna get there  
So don't hold me back, just hold me up  
I can take a hit, I can take a punch—"_

"What's this?" Archie's voice boomed.

The music stopped and Betty sighed, setting her guitar down. "Well Archie, if you'd bothered to be on time, you would know that this is the new song I've written. I'm calling it 'Back Of My Heart'. Now if you'll excuse us—"

"Hey, wait a minute," he interrupted, setting down his guitar. "Since when are you writing our songs?"

Betty's hands curled slowly into fists at her sides. "Um, since we agreed to share the songwriting when we formed Sweetwater?"

Archie shrugged his shoulders, ignoring Veronica's blatant gestures that suggested silence was his best option. "Yeah, but you've never written anything, so I thought we'd decided I would handle the songwriting."

"Not all of us have a full ride to college, Archie. Or four years of music classes paid for by mom and dad," Betty snapped. "I've been learning how to do it as we go, and I've finally pulled it together enough to share with the band."

"And it's a great song," Veronica interjected, earning a grateful smile from Betty. "It's sassy and full of 'fuck you' energy. It'll vibe nicely with our existing uptempo material."

The redhead sighed, tugging on his hair in frustration. "Alright, I guess I misunderstood. It's just that I brought a new song tonight, too. A duet. I think it'll go over great for the Open Mic next week. But hey, I'm late, so we can keep working on yours, Betty."

Betty wasn't an idiot. The text between his lines might as well have been in giant neon letters, burning out her eyes. And while this was a serious conversation they'd need to have, she was not in the mood for it tonight.

"No, we have thirty minutes left with Val. You can study the sheet music on mine. What have you got?"

Archie opened his guitar case, passing out his new song. "It's called 'Runaways'. It's got back and forths and harmonies, but your vocals are upfront, Betty."

Well, at least _that_ was a refreshing change from the songs where her parts felt like token gestures. Tightening her ponytail, she studied the melody and nodded. This called for angry bass, something she was more than happy to provide tonight.

"Run us through it," she told him, screwing her practiced smile back into place.

* * *

By the time they'd parted ways for the night, Betty was desperate for a little escape.

Settling into a booth at her favourite diner, she ordered a coffee and a slice of apple pie, stabbing the latter angrily with her fork. Tired of obeying the myriad rules she'd embedded in her brain about propriety and manners, she intentionally left the edge crust behind. Her mother hated that, so much so that Betty had spent her entire life choking it down to please her.

No more.

That was what she'd decided thirteen months ago, after a car crash had nearly ended the life of her older sister, Polly. Standing over her sister's comatose form, listening to the _beeps_ and _drips_ keeping her alive, she'd been forced to confront her own mortality. The sisters had spent their lives under the carefully regimented rule of Alice Cooper, so controlled that the sisters each had a colour that dominated their respective closets. They'd both graduated as valedictorians. They'd both been cheerleaders. They'd both done everything their mother demanded—and then a drunk driver had shattered their lives, blowing a red light and plowing into the side of Polly's Hyundai Sonata ( _"It's a top safety pick, Polly_!" Alice had reminded her, dismissing Polly's preference for a used Jetta).

Polly was lucky: after months of physiotherapy, she'd regained her ability to walk, albeit with a limp. She still tired from her post-concussion symptoms, but she was still alive. And as they spent hours together in the hospital, Polly had spoken of all the things she would do with her second chance. First on her list: the tattoo Alice had always forbidden. But Polly refused to break the rules alone…

 _"What's your secret passion?" Polly asked, shifting her broken leg beneath the blankets._

 _"I don't know."_

 _"Don't lie to me, Betty. There's got to be something!" Polly insisted._

 _Betty shrugged, fidgeting with her empty soda can. "Well, maybe one thing…"_

In grade six, Betty had spent her winter break at a Creative Arts Camp. It was a rare moment where her father had overruled her mother, and Betty had loved it. Painting, sculpting, dance… and music. Playing guitar had been a thrill, and she'd rushed home, pleading for an acoustic guitar for her birthday. Her mother had dismissed it as impractical, and not even Betty's four-day hunger strike had swayed her from her stance.

The day Polly got her tattoo, they'd dropped into a pawn shop and bought an acoustic guitar together. It was battered, a cheap brand, and hardly attractive. But it was hers, something she'd chosen for her own joy. And when she'd mastered enough basics to justify the splurge, she'd trekked out to a proper music store and bought a decent electric guitar and an amp.

Three weeks later, Archie had joked about forming a band over dinner and it had seemed fated. Her mother would _hate_ the idea of Betty joining a band. She would hate the punk-infused clothing she'd bought for her stage persona. But those few hours each week in band practice were the only hours where she felt _genuine_. No expectations, no perfection. Just broken strings, laughter and song.

Flipping open her notebook, she began jotting down the lyrics she'd thought up as she rode the bus back to her block. Reggie's text messages were proving to be useful inspiration for her apparently bitchy muse.

 _What's the point of swimming in it if it's shallow?  
What's the point of punching something if it's hollow?_

"Writing the next great novel?"

Betty glanced up, finding a slight woman with bright pink hair standing over her, dressed in layered tank tops and a pink miniskirt. Her golden brown skin was dashed in glittering highlights, her eyeliner thick and her fishnets ripped. Betty liked it.

"Working on lyrics, actually."

Pink Hair smiled, leaning against the table. "Oh, you're in a band? That's awesome. You play around here?"

"Open mics, nothing major. We're still building up a set." Setting her pen down, she tilted her head askance. "I'm sorry, do I know you from somewhere?"

"People tell me that a lot. You want to know me?" Pink Hair slid into the booth across from her, extending her hand. "Toni Topaz."

Bewildered, Betty shook her hand. "Betty Cooper. And I meant, well, what brings you to my table?"

"Well, see the guy at the counter, horn-rimmed glasses, clearly does not have a damn clue about women?"

Betty sipped her coffee, casting her gaze at the counter. Said gentleman was currently flirting with the waitress, who was clearly unimpressed with whatever nonsense he was spewing.

"I see him. Bothering you?"

"Couldn't take piss off for an answer," Toni grumbled. "Anyway, I told him I had just spotted a fine looking woman over here and would he kindly excuse me or at least go fuck himself? And here I am."

Betty flushed, surprised by the compliment hidden within Toni's tale. "Well, clearly he knows you're lying. I'm pretty plain."

"Are you kidding me? Girl, your eyes are somewhere between emerald and sea green and scream anime babe. You already had me there, without the vintage Blondie tee. Embracing the sexist BS ironically, I assume, which is totally bad-ass."

Toni's hand slid across the table, reaching for hers. _Oh. OH!_ Betty's anger, having dissipated, had revealed her common sense. And while her recent dating history had turned her off of the entirety of men, she sadly did not feel any naughty feelings for women.

A shame, since this happened at least once a month, lately.

"Toni, you're gorgeous and snarky, and were I into women even one percent—"

"Say no more, I got you." Toni leaned back, grinning. "But you'll cover for me if Douchebro McFail tries to talk to me again, won't you?"

"As far as he's concerned, we're a uHaul away from a lesbian relationship," Betty replied.

"Ha! I like you, Cooper. So what the hell is a woman like you doing in this place on a Friday night?"

Betty frowned, closing her notebook. "My bandmate is a thoughtless asshole who's unfortunately dating my bestie, so bitching about him to her is awkward. I dumped my boyfriend last week for calling my musical aspirations silly and complaining about how he was getting fewer handjobs because of it. Oh, and my super perfectionistic mother called me this morning to tell me I'm looking fat on social media."

"So you pretty much hate everyone?" Toni concluded.

"Including myself, for putting up with everyone's bullshit." Betty sighed, slamming her head onto the table. "I'm a fucking idiot."

Toni's hand squeezed her shoulder gently. "No, but you do sound like someone who's spent a lot of time trying to please others instead of making herself happy."

Huh. Betty sat up, mulling Toni's theory and finding plenty of evidence to support it. She'd backed down at band practice tonight to appease Veronica and please Archie. She'd promised her mother to get a gym membership and resume Pilates, even though she didn't have any time to spare these days. And Reggie… she'd only put up with him because Archie had set them up!

Hadn't she vowed to stop people pleasing and start respecting herself more? What the hell was she doing?

"You may be right," Betty conceded. "In fact, I know you are."

"In that case, I have the perfect prescription," Toni announced, eyes twinkling.

"I'm listening."

"To paraphrase an old TV show my grandfather watched constantly when I was little, sometimes you gotta go where nobody knows your name."

Which was how Betty Cooper, infamous goody-goody and Yes Girl, found herself standing outside of the local dive bar, The Whyte Wyrm.

They'd stopped at Betty's apartment first, where Toni had picked out a shimmering, silver tank top and a flared black skirt for her to wear. Her vivacious new friend had clucked her tongue sadly at Betty's more mom-friendly attire, poking it as if it were covered in dog dung.

"Is that a sweater set?"

"You see why I need a little rebellion in my life?" Betty groaned.

"This isn't just a friendly invite anymore. It's an intervention." Pawing through her oversized purse, she'd retrieved a black velvet choker with a tiny star pendant. "Wear this. Consider it a gift."

"Toni, no. I'll give it back."

"I have five like this, it's fine. Now, the messy ponytail is hot as hell, but you need to amp up those sexy doe eyes. Sit down and let me work my magic."

An hour later, they'd arrived at the bar, dressed to rebel. Betty's eyes were lined in black and dusted in a smokey eyeshadow with a hint of green in her crease. Her lips were glossy and pink, her seldom-worn Doc Marten boots were strapped on, and she felt sexy as hell.

"This place looks sketch, Toni."

Toni laughed as she fixed her coffee-coloured lipstick with an assist from a hubcap. "It's totally sketch, but the music is awesome on Fridays. My friend Fangs spins. Plus shots are only three bucks."

Betty drew a deep breath as old insecurities flooded her. In the back of her mind, she could hear her mother lecturing her on first impressions and how important a good reputation would be for her entire life. Sensing her anxiety, Toni grabbed her shoulders, shaking her gently.

"Betty, you've spent your entire life listening to everyone else. Everyone else isn't here. You and me, we're going to go inside, have a few drinks, dance our asses off and sleep until two tomorrow."

"You're right. I deserve some fun!"

"Hell yes!"

"I deserve to go in there, do shots and dance until my feet fall off!" Adjusting her skirt, Betty grinned. "Let's do this!"

Toni looped her arm through Betty's and led her to the door. The bouncer greeted her friend by name, stepping aside without so much as thinking of carding them. Betty shrugged off her surprise quickly as she took in the ambience of the Wyrm, or lack thereof. The interior was primarily wood and leather seating, although she did love the multi-coloured lights strung along the exposed beams of the ceiling. On the far side of the bar lay a modest dance floor and a tiny stage, scarcely big enough for Sweetwater's five-piece. Toni raised a hand in greeting to her friend Fangs, who was fidgeting with his gear.

The Clash was on ("Should I Stay or Should I Go") and Betty beamed. Toni was right: this place was perfect.

"What's your poison?"

Betty glanced at the rail, spying a wide array of whiskey, vodka, rum and the dreaded tequila. "Anything but beer. It's carbonated piss."

"Ha! Well then, I got you. Hey, Tall Boy! Four shots of Patron," Toni called out, slapping down a twenty.

The hulking bartender—easily six five, in Betty's eyes—was speedy, sliding the shots across the bar while topping up a glass of whatever pale ale was on tap. They clinked glasses, downing their first shots quickly.

"I've got the next round," Betty insisted.

"Of course! Bottoms up, babe."

Two shots down, and Betty was already at ease. Perhaps it was the way nearly every passerby greeted Toni with a warm smile or a pat on the shoulder, a sign of a respected regular. Or maybe it was the relief that came from escaping prying eyes. Tightening her boots to keep her phone case secure within, she shrieked as the song changed.

"Ahh! That's my jam. Let's dance!"

"Bad Reputation" was a classic song, but for Betty, it was a triumphant middle finger to her past. She and Toni worked their way to the stage, swaying and jumping to the beat. The floor was half-full, but they were like-minded patrons eager to let loose. Betty sang along quietly, whipping her ponytail wildly from side to side.

Time began to fly: Fangs blew through a set of punk goodies, from The Runaways to The Distillers and right around to Green Day's "She's a Rebel". Toni laughed as it began to play, flipping off Fangs in dramatic fashion.

"He's been calling me Whatshername for years, that asshole," she explained, smirking. "Can't get away from that album when he's spinning. Hey, you thirsty? I'm gonna grab a drink."

"Parched! But it's my turn to pay," Betty insisted, tugging a twenty from her boot.

Toni accepted the bill, shaking her head. "Be a rebel, girlfriend. This ain't kindergarten. BUT… I will happily spend your cash on margaritas."

Betty remained on the dancefloor, beaming as Fangs switched things up for a brooding electronic vibe. "Magnets" was one of her favourite songs to dance to and she closed her eyes, rolling her hips with the sensual melody.

" _Pretty girls don't know the things that I know_ ," she sang along, stretching her arms overhead as she swayed and gyrated.

Across the room, unbeknownst to the spirited blonde, icy blue eyes were transfixed by her movement…

* * *

 **A tease, I know, but we're just getting started. Our POV will primarily be Betty's, but a certain dark-haired man will take the wheel for a few chapters.  
**

 **Please review, fave, do your thing. This one won't be as long as Gaslight, but I promise Bughead satisfaction.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for the reviews, faves and follows! Glad to see some new faces and old joining our college kids at the Whyte Wyrm!**

 **We've met Betty and seen what she's struggling with right now. Shall we meet a certain, dreamy Serpent?**

 ** **Disclaimer: Not my chess board - just shuffling the pieces for a few turns. Also, please note the rating is a hard T for this tale.****

* * *

"C'mon Jughead, just a few drinks and we'll bounce," Sweet Pea pleaded.

Jughead tugged on his unruly black locks, rolling his eyes. "Sweets, you know it's been a long week. I've been daydreaming about an actual night of sleep all damn day."

"But it's Friday night! Great music, cheap booze." His friend nudged him hard in the shoulder. "If anyone deserves to let the fuck go, it's you."

Jughead sighed, leaning against the familiar brick of their usual haunt. Why was he friends with Sweet Pea again? Sweets was an extrovert with endless energy, always up for a game of pool or a rock show three towns away. Jughead was an introvert, the popular-by-proxy son of the local gang leader who would happily choose a night of books and bourbon over dancing with intoxicated, rowdy college kids and his dad's unruly, albeit secretly soft-hearted, Serpents.

Sometimes, he hated this place. Hated being known as Serpent royalty, instead of himself. He was half a person in the eyes of many, and it infuriated him. Aside from a few of the younger Serpents—many of them born and raised in the fold, like Jughead—and his childhood best friend, no one ever saw past the leather jacket.

"Why don't we find another bar for a change? I'm tired of this place," Jughead grumbled.

"Tired of money, too? Because drinks will cost double anywhere else, never mind gas." Clearly desperate, Sweet Pea made an offer he'd soon regret: "I'll buy all your drinks, man. Come _on_!"

"Alright, alright!" Throwing up his hands, Jughead followed his hooting friend inside the Whyte Wyrm, determined to break his bank in payback.

The bar was hopping, as usual: several of the senior Serpents were clustered at the bar, knocking back beers and shooting the shit with Tall Boy. Fangs was helming the DJ tables tonight, currently blasting an old Green Day song—which meant Toni had to be around somewhere. Fangs had been tormenting her with that album since they were little kids.

"What d'ya want?" Sweets asked.

Shrugging off his jacket, revealing a faded grey tee, Jughead held up two fingers. "Double Johnny on the rocks, and keep them coming."

Leaning against a pillar separating the bar from a small cluster of tables, he scanned the floor in search of a certain troublemaker. He loved Toni dearly, but she tended to play loose with her heart, often ending up crying in his loft with a pint of ice cream and pledge to give up women _for real this time_ , or _to hell with men_! Ever since that heartbreaker Serena had devastated her two years ago, Toni had dodged commitment as if it were a hollow-point round from a sniper rifle.

"Your drink."

Jughead accepted the glass, draining half of the amber liquid quickly. He would need a little courage tonight to stomach this scene. A flash of pink to his far left caught his eye and he zeroed in on Toni, who was laughing and jumping to the music— _hello,_ _who is that_?

A slight blonde woman with delicate curves was dancing alongside Toni, her wavy hair pulled in a high, messy ponytail that somehow looked perfectly constructed, as if she'd planned each and every errant lock grazing her neck. The glittering lights swathing the dance floor reflected prismatic off her silver top, lending an ethereal glow to her every movement. But it was her smile, broad and carefree, that captivated him. She was so open, so unafraid and everything he wasn't.

His jaw had literally fallen open, and he hurriedly tossed back the rest of his scotch to steady himself.

"Looks like Toni found another babe," Sweet Pea noted bitterly. "Man, how does she score all the finest chicks?"

"Probably because she doesn't call them chicks," Jughead replied absently, signalling for Tall Boy's attention. "Another."

"Slow down, Jug. I'm not your rich friend, remember?"

"And I told you I didn't want to come here, and you offered to buy all of my drinks as penance," he reminded him, nodding as Tall Boy brought his refill. "Now pay the good man, Sweets."

The burly biker slammed down a wad of bills, gesturing for another beer. "Fine, fine. But I'm gonna go find Josie, since you're being such shitty company."

"Take your time," Jughead murmured. "I'm people watching."

Alone with his highly inappropriate thoughts about Toni's newest girlfriend, he studied the blonde from afar. Her hair whipped wildly as her lips moved— _is she singing?_ —and Toni cheered, twirling in wild circles. The mystery blonde's moves were oddly graceful, even as she thrashed, and he wondered if perhaps she'd studied some form of a dance as a little girl.

Toni glanced in his direction, tilting her head questioningly. He quickly averted his gaze, silently talking himself out of the unholy lust the blonde was arousing within him. _Hands off, she's Toni's date_ , he reminded himself.

A tapping on his shoulder confirmed he'd been busted. "See something you like?"

"Sorry, Toni," he mumbled as he turned around, sipping his second double in what, ten minutes?

"Hey, looking is free," she teased, signalling for Tall Boy. "Girl can move, right?"

"I won't pretend I didn't notice," he agreed. "So, where did you pick this one up?"

Toni leaned over the bar, shouting her order over the din before turning back to Jughead. "I didn't!"

"What? The great player was finally picked up?" Jughead feigned a gasp, clutching a hand to his chest.

"Ha ha, asshole." Two margaritas slid across the bar and Toni took a sip from the closest one. "And no, she didn't pick me up."

Was he drunk already? "I don't understand."

"She doesn't play for my team, Jug," Toni whispered in his ear. "I brought her to hang out. She needed to get out of her head for the night."

"In that case, I think you succeeded…"

His voice trailed off as his gaze drifted to the blonde beauty, now dancing alone to a sensual beat. Winding her hips and arms, she was almost serpentine—and he was thoroughly charmed. Overhead, a husky voice sang: _Pretty girls don't know the things that I know_.

Oh, she was more than pretty. She was magnetic.

"That look on your face right now? That's why I invited her tonight," Toni informed him. "Let me introduce you."

"What?" Jughead felt his cheeks flushing. "No, no fucking way, Tone."

"And why the hell not? Isn't she beautiful enough?"

"You know I'm not obsessed with looks, but she's fucking gorgeous, and you know it!"

Twisting her hair and draping it over her right shoulder, Toni smirked. "She's smart, too. Sassy. Just like you."

The music picked up, swelling to an electronic crescendo as Toni's new friend swayed wildly to the rhythm. _Let's embrace the point of no return_ , the singer suggested, and oh god, he wanted to. His body was aching for contact.

"Idea: you overthink it a little more while I take my girl her drink. If you want an intro, grow some ovaries and come on over, alright? In the meantime, I'll be territorial and keep the hounds away." With a wink and a sashay, Toni slipped through the crowd, margaritas in tow.

Pressing his glass to his forehead in a futile attempt to cool off, Jughead sighed. Toni had seldom steered him wrong with her little matchmaking endeavours, but lately, he kept fumbling things with women. Half of it was the turmoil with his family, but the rest was… shitty luck? Misreading signals? Being too fucking nerdy for the average college party girl?

It was the jacket, really. The fucking cursed jacket. Women saw it and expected Sons of Anarchy. A broken Hamlet with a filthy mouth and a wicked right hook. And while he could certainly hold his own after years of boxing classes, he was hardly a scrapper.

 _An experiment, then_ , he decided. Knocking back the rest of his scotch, he passed his jacket to Tall Boy, asking him to stow it under the bar. Being Serpent Royalty did have its perks: people generally helped him out of deference to his father. Smoothing his t-shirt and running an anxious hand through his hair, he made his way through the crowd, nodding to those he recognized and moving on quickly to where Toni and the sinful angel were shimmying to an old Rihanna jam that he knew Toni loved.

"Toni!" he called out, feigning surprise. "How are you?"

"I'm sensational and you know it," Toni teased, pulling him in for a hug. "Go for it," she whispered in his ear.

The blonde had slowed her movements, but her feet continued to tap and shuffle to the beat. Her smile was shy as she tugged on her top and looked to Toni.

"My manners are non-existent, clearly," Toni blurted out. "Jughead Jones, this is my new friend, Betty Cooper. Betty, this is Jughead. Yes, it's a nickname. No, he won't tell you the real one. Trust me on this. I've known him since I was six."

 _Betty_. He extended a hand in greeting and found himself lost in her bright green eyes. Betty took his hand firmly and shook it, the two of them jolting slightly as a static charge passed between them.

"Literal sparks," Toni teased. "You better watch out, Jughead. This one's a heartbreaker."

"What?!" Betty's eyes widened, darting between Toni and Jughead.

Her voice was melodic, even. _Oh fuck._ She could plunge a knife in his chest and he'd thank her for it.

"Oh yeah, she totally shot me down tonight. Couldn't believe it after she was flashing me those doe eyes," Toni continued, amused by Betty's confusion. "Told her the least she could do was come dance with me, help me save face."

"That's not how it happened at all," Betty protested, looking to Jughead for validation. "It's not, I swear!"

"Oh don't worry, I've known Toni long enough to know she came onto you," Jughead reassured her.

"And now they're ganging up on me!" Toni sniffled loudly and pouted. "How quickly I've been abandoned. Hoes before bros, Betty!"

Betty giggled, reaching for her margarita. "She raises a fair point, Jughead. Care to counter?"

Pondering a moment, he smugly countered, "She called you a hoe, though."

"Are we having a contest for her affections?" Toni asked. "Because you know I have more game with women than you do."

"It's true," Jughead lamented, winking at Betty.

Hoisting herself up onto the stage, Betty crossed her bare legs and leaned back. "Hmm, I'm game. Go on, then. Woo me."

Overhead, Rihanna sang of chains and whips and Jughead swallowed hard. Her slender legs were unravelling him quickly.

"Ladies first," he insisted, stepping behind Toni.

"You have manners, Jones, but you don't stand a chance." Cracking her knuckles, she grinned. "One pick up line to rule them all. Best line wins the right to dance with dear Betty. You okay with these terms?"

Betty sipped on her margarita, nodding enthusiastically. "Agreed. But careful: I'm not easy to impress. Bring your A game."

Toni was already prepared, clearly having a treasure trove of pick-up lines in her back pocket. Sashaying her way to Betty, she planted a hand on either side of her seated hips and licked her lips.

"Are you the SAT? Because I'd do you for three hours and forty-five minutes… with a fifteen minute break for snacks."

Where the hell did Toni get this shit? He was done. He had nothing remotely that sexy, let alone clever… _wait_. Betty had raised an intrigued eyebrow at the mention of the SAT, but had merely giggled at the closing flirtation. Granted, that could be because she wasn't interested in women, but still… It said something.

"Well, Romeo?" Toni teased, stepping back. "You gonna give up yet?"

"Please! Where'd you get that from, the pick-up line database? Predictable," he scoffed.

Betty's smile was coy as her attention fixed upon him. "Well, I don't know. That was certainly better than that ancient Windex in your pants line."

Toni rolled her eyes. "Do people still use that one?"

"My ex did once. I punched his arm. But we're keeping Jughead from his turn." Leaning back on her elbows, she kicked her legs in the air. "Go ahead."

Jughead had two lines he deployed in desperate times like these. One of them was fairly filthy, a gift from Sweet Pea that he'd never asked for and had only tossed out once. The other was an old Tumblr post he'd spotted five years and found so perfectly geeky, he'd actually bothered to reblog it. With tags, even.

 _Fuck it_. He had to be himself.

"Are you made of copper and tellurium? Because you're cute."

Toni was baffled, science never having been her strong suit. Betty, on the other hand, spat the straw of her drink on the floor, giggling uncontrollably.

"Oh my god… Cu… Ahh!" She laughed until she wheezed, pressing her hand to her chest as if willing herself to settle down.

"You broke the babe," Toni complained, punching him in the arm. "What did that even mean?"

"Periodic table humor," he replied anxiously.

Alright, she'd understood the line. That was a tremendous plus. But she was also laughing in his face. Jughead glanced around subtly, seeking out Sweet Pea. That jerk was about to owe him a third double.

"Whew!" Betty's cheeks were flushed, but she'd managed to calm herself. "Okay. So, this is the part where I judge your entries and announce my dance partner for the next song?"

"That's the idea. So, gorgeous, go ahead and break his heart so we can party."

With a sideways glance in his direction, Betty smiled shyly. "Toni, you are an absolute riot to hang with, but I gotta tell you, I kinda like it when people talk nerdy to me."

Jughead rocked back on his heels as Toni pouted. "What?"

"You win, Juggie," Betty repeated, hopping off of the stage. "You owe me a dance, mister."

 _Juggie?_ That was a new variation. He kinda liked it.

Behind Betty, Toni was jubilant and just a little cocky about yet another successful matchmaking mission. Bewildered and bewitched, he watched Betty knock back the rest of her drink and set the glass on the stage. The music changed and Betty shrieked jubilantly.

"Oh my god, I love this song! _If you ain't dirty, you ain't here to paaaarrrrrrty!_ "

"Oh, you are in trouble, Mr. Clumsy," Toni chirped as she strolled away.

"Hey, Betty? Fair warning…" He bit back a groan as Betty rolled her hips in a manner that ought to be illegal. "I don't know how to dance."

"Neither do I!" Betty replied cheerily, twirling in a circle beside him.

"I beg to differ. You're literally dancing circles around me."

Betty giggled, shaking her head. "I just let my body move with the music. No thinking, just intuition. C'mon, I'll teach you."

And now her hands with on his hips and her lips were mere inches away and _I can't breathe, I can't breathe_. With a toss of her ponytail, Betty's gaze was fixed upon him.

"Trust me, okay?"

"Yeah," he murmured.

"Close your eyes, and go where my hands tell you to," she ordered him.

He obeyed, surrendering to her whim and they began to sway in time with the music. Unsure of what to do with his own hands, he slid his palms along her arms, fumbling blindly for her waist. Betty hummed happily as he found his target, her delicate hands guiding his hips through a soft rolling motion, left and right. And while he was certain he looked awkward as hell, he couldn't make himself care.

"You're doing great!" Betty encouraged him. "Keep that going with the beat, alright?"

"I look stupid, don't I?" he muttered.

"Not at all. Eyes closed," she reminded him.

The sudden absence of her guiding hands left him aching, but Betty was quick to offer a cure. He sucked in a deep breath as he felt her press against him, her ass grinding against his groin. Betty hummed along with the music as she reached for his hands, pulling them to her gyrating hips.

"Don't let go," she murmured. "Feel the music with me."

Resisting every instinct to flee, to babble excuses and disappear into his shell, he placed his trust in her and obeyed. He focused on her hips, on the subtle curves beneath his palms and the wild, whirling ways she'd whip them around as the music intensified. Beneath the violent pounding of his heart, he could faintly hear her sultry soprano singing every word and matching every nuance.

"You ready to open your eyes?" she asked softly.

"Should I?"

"Hmm… I think you should. But you can't let the room judge you. If you feel nervous, close your eyes and focus on me."

"That easy?" he murmured huskily as she wound them closer to the floor.

"It's what I've been doing all night," she confessed.

Was this devastatingly beautiful dance instructor as terrified as he was? She'd struck him as unrestrained, but perhaps it was a hard-won freedom she'd carved out in the bar.

"It's working for you," he reassured her.

He opened his eyes.

The gut reaction to flee was intense, but the sinful feel of her body pressed against his was impossible to resist. His hands slid up her hips and beneath her top, grazing her stomach as their bodies moved as if a single wave of sweat and sexual tension. Betty gasped at the contact, leaning her head back against his shoulder.

"You're beautiful," he blurted out.

"No, you are," she protested breathlessly.

The song drew to a sudden close and Betty spun away. His body mourned the loss of her, but his heart was just as devastated. Scant minutes with an angel, only to be ripped away so cruelly. His stomach plummeted as if he'd been cast down to hell.

"Thank you for dancing with me."

"The pleasure was all mine," he insisted, mindful of his very physical reaction to her little lesson.

"Definitely not all yours," she insisted, biting her lower lip. "But I do need a break from all this…"

Her expression shifted suddenly, a pensiveness settling upon her porcelain skin. It was a feeling he'd struggled with his entire life: impostor syndrome. Reaching for her hand, he tugged her through the crowd to the farthest corner, the one where the speakers were half-broken and the bass was blown out. It was where he retreated when he needed a moment in the maddening shroud of sound.

Betty slid eagerly into the booth he gestured to and he grabbed two glasses of water from the readied jugs Tall Boy kept on the counter. She quietly thanked him for the proffered glass and took a mouthful.

"Better?"

"Yes." She sat her water down carefully, her fingers dancing along the rim. "I'm sorry if I crossed a line out there," she added nervously.

"What? No, not at all."

"Because I don't… I don't grind on every boy I meet in a bar," she babbled, unable to meet his gaze. "I'm not sure why I did now, but I don't want to offend you or mislead you at all."

Mislead him? Now he was starting to panic, questioning his every word and action. Had he made her uncomfortable? Was he coming off as some sex-obsessed jerk looking to score? His initial fascination may have been pure lust, but the more tidbits of her truth that were tossed his way, the more desperately he longed to learn more.

"I have no expectations," he told her firmly. "Just… You're not like any woman I've ever met. And contrary to our showdown, Toni's right: I'm socially clueless."

Betty's mouth curved into a half-smile. "That was a great line, though. I just… do you ever feel like you're in a room and nobody understands you, let alone knows you?"

"All of the time," he admitted sadly. "Or they see what they think you are, and there's no point in trying to change their minds. Because how could you not be what they assume you are?"

"Yeah. And if you try to reveal who you are, it's like you've grown another head. How dare you not be their perfect girl?" Betty spat.

"How dare you not want to be the anti-hero they're counting on?"

They fell silent, studying each other from across the scratched-up table. Betty's fingers traced circles on the gnarled wood, her irises darker, wilder. Jughead snatched his water from the table, draining the glass in a futile attempt to cool the fever dreams in his mind.

"I want to know you," he told her, sliding his hand across the table to cover hers. "You. Not the you that people want or expect. You, as you wish they knew you. If you'll let me."

"Really?"

"Yeah. More than I should probably admit but hey, social outcast," he joked weakly.

Sliding out of the booth, Betty beckoned him to his feet. He complied reluctantly, unable to gauge her intentions. Slender fingers reached out across the space between them, tugging gently on his faded shirt.

"There's something I want to do. Something I would normally never act on because of all the static in my head."

"So do it," he urged her. "I won't let anything bad happen to you tonight. I promise you."

"You trusted me," she whispered. "So I trust you."

Snaking her arms around his neck, her lips crashed into his and in that instant, Jughead knew he was done for.

* * *

 **So, tell me: what do we think of these two? Will Betty resist the urge to control everything? Will Jughead open up? Leave a little love in the review box. It's good food for finishing this story and once it's done, I'll be posting twice a week instead!  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**Welcome to the next chapter in our college meet CuTe, as Jughead would call it. I know, BETTY taking the lead? Even she's a bit surprised, as you'll see. But then again, Jughead has no preconceived notions of her, so maybe that's a bit freeing... Let's see what these two do next.**

 **Disclaimer: Not my chess board - just shuffling the pieces for a few turns. Also, please note the rating is a hard T for this tale.**

* * *

Betty had never been an impulsive person. She often joked that she'd emerged from the womb after careful analysis of the best time of day to arrive, with a dayplanner in tow. Every decision she made involved a calculation of pros and cons, from what she ate for dinner to the order in which she tackled her homework assignments.

Kissing a relative stranger in a bar was _so_ unlike her. And yet, here she was, clinging to Jughead's neck as his tongue slid between her lips, teasing hers into a sensual dance. Her legs trembled as she pressed herself tightly against him, marvelling at the bulge in his jeans—because _she_ had done that. Betty Cooper, pristine goody-goody, had worked him up in minutes.

There was a power in being sexy and assertive, a power she'd seldom wielded. Goddamn, it felt good!

Jughead's hands slid around her hips, curving around to her ass and she moaned appreciatively at the contact. His every touch was soft and tentative, a testing of waters with an unspoken ask. Despite her uncharacteristically wanton behaviour, she felt respected by him. It was an unfamiliar feeling, giving her dismal dating track record.

She broke off the kiss reluctantly as her lungs ached for air but her focus remained on this beautiful, nerdy man with errant waves tumbling across his forehead. Her left hand reached for them, toying and twirling with the locks. Dear God, his hair was softer than hers. It was absolutely unfair.

"Your trust is incredible," Jughead quipped quietly.

She felt her cheeks burning as she shyly glanced away. "I think you taught me to dance that time," she demurred.

Soft blue irises studied her intently, as if seeking to memorize her features. "So, Betty Cooper, on this night of being yourself, with no hesitations, tell me: what would you like to do next?"

Hmm. A good question. One that it didn't seem appropriate to respond to with _take you back to my place and let you fuck me senseless_ , no matter what the tequila was suggesting. Besides, beyond the incredible kissing and the muscular physique she'd detected when grabbing his t-shirt, she'd picked up on Jughead having similar issues with being forced into a box by others. She was curious about him: his upbringing; his hobbies; his dreams. She wanted more than the thoroughly kissable lips.

Glancing around the bar, she spied an opportunity for talking—and a new experience.

"Well, Juggie, I'd like to grab another drink, of course. And then, I was hoping you could teach me to play pool."

He was amused by this revelation. "You've never played pool? Not at all?"

"Nope. My life, until university, has been pretty regimented," she admitted.

"Yeah, but you've gotta be second, maybe third year by now? No pool tables on campus?"

Betty shrugged. "No one I cared to ask to teach me, I guess."

His features softened as he mulled her words over. A lightly callused hand rose to cradle her cheek and she leaned into his touch. _What in the hell is happening here?_ This connection she felt with him, it was exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

"You've clearly been surrounded by idiots your entire life," he declared, running his thumb along her jawline. "Come on, Betts. Let's go play pool."

 _Betts_? She'd never had a nickname before—aside from shortening her given name of Elizabeth, of course. Her heart skipped as she replayed it in her mind. _Betts_. She felt like a Betts.

They ordered their drinks—a double scotch for him; another margarita for herself—and made their way to the corner farthest from the dance floor, where several men in leather jackets emblazoned with snake logos immediately nodded to Jughead. It was a recognition, but more than that, she detected. Respect, perhaps. Jughead whispered something in the ear of the eldest man and he smiled warmly, gesturing to the group.

"C'mon guys, I'm tired of kicking your asses!" the man's voice boomed. "Let's get some shots."

Betty was flabbergasted at how readily they'd relinquished the table at Jughead's behest. They seemed too old to be friends of his, and the jackets suggested… a gang, maybe? Her confusion was noticed immediately by her companion, who shrugged his shoulders and sighed.

"They're friends of my father," he explained. "They're nice guys, no matter how they look or what people say about the Serpents—"

"Jughead, it's okay," she interrupted. "You don't owe me any explanations. I'm only interested in who _you_ are, not who your father is."

He exhaled loudly, running a hand through his raven hair. "Thank you. Just… you have no idea how much of my life has been dictated by my father's."

"Sounds like me and my mother," Betty lamented. "She even picked my favourite colour for me. Like, who does that? Who is so controlling that their daughter can't just choose a colour?"

"Someone who clearly is living their life through yours," he concluded. "And that's over with. Because you are a grown woman, with dreams and goals. Like learning pool."

Jughead reached for a cue and liberally chalked the tip of it. Passing it over to Betty, he set up the triangular frame and organized the polished balls within it.

"You ever watch pool at all?"

"Once or twice, but never really paying attention," she admitted.

"Good. Because my knowledge of the game is incredibly basic, so if I fuck this up, you'll never know."

The ground rules of the game were easy to follow. Jughead broke it down for her in a matter of minutes. What would be challenging, she realized, would be the precision of each shot. That and mastering how to balance the cue. Thankfully, Jughead was a very hands-on instructor—although the way he pressed into her ass as he adjusted her posture and hand position was flooding her mind with filthy thoughts.

"I'll let you break," he told her. "Just hit the white ball hard enough to connect with that triangle and scatter them a bit."

"That easy, huh?"

Drawing her arm back, she practiced her shot as he'd coached her, steadying her aim before striking the cue ball. To her relief, she succeeded in scattering the coloured and striped balls, ultimately sinking one in a solid shade of purple.

"You're solids, I'm stripes. Now, try and sink another, but _only_ a solid ball. Unless you're feeling generous, of course, in which case you can feel free to make my life easier," he teased.

Betty stuck out her tongue, earning a loud laugh from Jughead as she circled the table in search of what she assumed would be an easy shot. The first few exchanges weren't terrible, mainly because she'd aim for a cluster of solids and pray one sunk. When she pulled ahead of Jughead by a ball, she accused him of throwing the game.

"Betts, trust me, I'm trying to win. I'm not exactly a seasoned snooker veteran," he grumbled, finishing off his scotch.

Still skeptical, Betty examined her shot choices, hating all of them. Her remaining balls to clear were all lined up with Jughead's stripes in such a way that even if she managed to sink her ball, she'd be clearing the board for him too. Determined not to give him an advantage, she aimed for the lone red ball loitering on the far side. It wasn't exactly lined up for any pocket, but fuck it, at least it wouldn't benefit him. Drawing her arm back, she struck the cue ball—and cursed as it collided with her red ball, but sent it scurrying in the opposite direction of the pocket.

"You almost had that one," Jughead praised her.

Betty reached for her drink, pressing the cool glass to her forehead. "Like hell I did!"

"No, really," he insisted, moving around the table to join her. "Pool is all mathematics and physics. You know that, right?"

"Look, talking nerdy to me only gets you one dirty dance per night," Betty joked weakly.

"Google it, then. Don't believe me. It's all angles and laws of motion. Had you adjusted your shot maybe ten degrees, you would have sunk it."

"Huh."

She studied Jughead's next shot carefully, watching his eyes move and the fine tuning of his arm position. When he hit a seemingly ridiculous shot—driving her ball off the side into his own, sinking his neatly in a corner pocket—she worked the angles backwards and understood _how_ he'd pulled it off.

"I think I see what you mean," she announced, watching him set up his next shot. "You're right."

"I know," he replied cockily, winking across the table at her as he sunk a second ball. "That's three more for me and the 8-ball."

"And three more for me, including the 8," she countered feistily. "Hey, let's bet on the outcome."

Jughead smirked, chalking his cue. "You feeling lucky?"

"No, just clever. If I win… you have to dance to any song I choose. Eyes open."

"Alright. But if I win? You're dancing on the table for a full minute."

Betty gasped, setting down her now empty glass. "On the table? You trying to get me kicked out?"

"People have done far worse in this place. On the table, one full minute," he stressed, clearly pleased with himself.

"Fine. No harm in agreeing since I'm gonna win."

Leaning back against the wall, Betty folded her arms over her chest and patiently waited for Jughead to blow his next shot. Because there was literally no way in hell he was making either of his options. Except he did make it. And the next one. And damn it, a third.

"Do you hear that?" Jughead teased, pointing to the speakers wired to the walls. "AC/DC. Perfect for table dancing."

"You totally sharked me, didn't you?"

"I swear, I didn't. Maybe the universe just thinks you need a table dance," he mused, easily sinking the damn black ball.

Accepting defeat, she sidled around to his side, pouting in a last-ditch attempt to evade her fate. Jughead, however, was not having it. Not even a soft kiss to the cheek distracted him from his reward.

"A bet's a bet," he chided her.

"Fine. But if I get into trouble, you better take the blame, Mr. Jones."

His hand reached for hers, squeezing it tightly. "No one will bother you, Betty Cooper. Not on my watch."

She trusted him. She wasn't entirely sure why, but her instincts told her that he would indeed look after her. That she was safe. Taking a deep breath, she stepped up onto the chair, then the table. The scuffed wood held, surprisingly sturdy despite its apparent age.

"Don't let me fall," she pleaded.

"I won't."

"And time me," she added firmly. "One minute!"

With a toss of her head, Betty closed her eyes and let herself move to the all-too familiar chorus of "You Shook Me (All Night Long)". It was unnerving at first, feeling the wood beneath her yield to her movement, but also exhilarating. Someone hooted loudly and Jughead immediately told him to fuck off in a protective tone that was oddly erotic.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! What did you do to my girl?" a familiar voice called out.

"She lost a bet," Jughead explained.

Betty's eyes opened slowly, settling on a bemused Toni. Her pink hair was knotted now at the nape of her neck, and she was swinging a beer bottle absently at her side.

"I leave you kids alone for half an hour and you're trashing the joint," she teased. "What was the bet about?"

"A closely contested game of pool," Jughead explained. "She _claims_ she's never played before, but I barely got out alive."

"You're so full of it!" Betty turned her back to him, rolling her hips to torment him. "Toni, he's a total shark."

"As much as I am loyal to my sisters, I've known this clown for my entire life and he's barely passable at pool. He got lucky." Sipping her beer, Toni's eyes drifted across the room. "And my apologies for abandoning you for so long, but you could say I'm _also_ getting lucky."

"One minute," Jughead announced, extending his hand. "Come on, Betts."

Betty happily accepted his assistance in getting down, the tequila making heights a little disorienting. She glanced across the bar, noticing a curvaceous redhead in unusually formal attire seated in a booth, sipping on a drink.

"She's a little out of place," Betty mused.

"Trust fund gal," Toni explained. "Fought with her parents and stormed out of the restaurant, started walking in the dark. Ended up here. Unlike you, she's my type," Toni added with a wink.

The redhead glanced up, spotting Toni and waving. Toni held up a single finger in reply and asked Jughead to fetch water for _his two favourite ladies_. He readily complied, leaving the two women huddled against the wall.

"We're friends now, Betty, so I wanted to check in and see if I should stay with you, help you get home, or leave you with Jug," Toni explained quietly. "You can tell me the truth. Cheryl over there can easily hang with us, or cab to my place while I take you home. Endless options."

Betty chewed her bottom lip as she contemplated Toni's words. Clearly, she'd made a connection with Cheryl, the mystery woman who'd stumbled into a biker bar in her couture attire. That said, Betty was moved that this free spirit had come back to check on her and ensure her safety. Toni was definitely a friend worth having, and she would absolutely want to hang out more often.

As for her plans for the rest of the night, her gaze drifted to Jughead, who bowed his head in embarrassment as she caught him staring at her. She giggled softly, shaking her head in disbelief. He was sweet but snarky, sexy as hell but oblivious to his inherent charisma. Her instinct was to tell Toni to enjoy her night and close the bar down with the raven-haired man who'd mesmerized her so completely. But caution never hurt anyone.

"How long have you known Jughead again?"

"Since grade one," Toni replied, her features lighting up. "He's been a good friend forever. I came out to him first, actually. He hugged me tight as I cried and told me if my uncle kicked me out, we'd run away together and he'd get a job so we could rent a home."

Betty's chest ached at this revelation, both for Toni's fear as a young woman and for the devotion Jughead had shown her in a time of need. It aligned with her own impression of him as someone kind and sincere.

"He's on his way back, so lemme make this quick: he's a good man, and if I didn't feel 100% safe leaving you with him, I wouldn't even put that option on the table. And I've never seen him look at _anyone_ the way he's been looking at you."

Feeling her cheeks flush, Betty embraced Toni. "Thank you for bringing me here tonight. I needed this, more than I can explain. You can take off with your gorgeous new friend."

"You're very welcome. I've never been so happy to fail at picking a woman up," Toni joked as Jughead rejoined them. "About time! Did you go to the ice caps and scoop this water up beside a polar bear?"

"Hey, talk to Tall Boy," Jughead protested, handing each of them a glass of water. "He's the one too busy arguing with Mustang over some stupid bet they had back in 2007 to serve customers."

"He should really go back to the jugs and cups on the counter," Toni mused.

Jughead poked her playfully in the arm. "Yeah but he stopped that because _you_ poured a jug of water on that preppy college guy two months ago."

"I stand by my decision! Anyway, I'm escorting a lady in need to her home. You mind making sure my girl Betty makes it to her place?"

"Not at all. Get home safe, Toni," he replied affectionately with a hug.

Goodbyes exchanged, Betty and Jughead watched as Toni returned to Cheryl's side and ushered her out of the Whyte Wyrm. The redhead leaned into the protection of Toni's arm draped around her shoulder, smiling shyly.

The music continued to play, Fangs still holding down the DJ equipment on the tiny stage. He'd been moving between styles all night, but Betty sensed his recent shift back to rock would stretch until closing time. It suited her perfectly—particularly since he was spinning Blondie now.

"Another game of pool?" Jughead suggested.

"Ha, you just want to see me dance on the table again."

"I wouldn't turn it down," he admittedly coyly. "But it's your night. What would you like to do?"

 _Tear off your shirt and kiss you until my lips hurt_ , was what her body suggested. And while that was an excellent idea, a soft rumbling in her stomach offered an alternative.

"I could use something to eat. Any suggestions?"

With a soft chuckle, Jughead wrapped an arm around her shoulder and planted a gentle kiss atop her head. "I know just the place."

* * *

 **Can I tell you that I love Toni and how she speaks to me in this story? She's a joy to write, and a good friend - which is why she deserved a little romance of her own.**

 **See you next week, where Jughead spills a little of his past over a late-night meal.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Happy Sunday and welcome to the next chapter in our college AU. Bughead have certainly hit it off so far, but the night is young and Betty has the munchies. Shall we see where they go next?**

 **Disclaimer: Not my chess board - just shuffling the pieces for a few turns. Also, please note the rating is a hard T for this tale.**

* * *

Stepping inside Pop's Chock'lit Shop was like time-travelling to the sixties. The plump cushions of the booths, the chrome furniture and the menu's focus on hand-spun shakes was a little surreal, but also soothing. A far cry from the grit and darkness of the Whyte Wyrm, she mused.

Settling into a corner booth, Jughead signalled for the plump gentleman working the counter. _Pop Tate_ , Jughead informed her as the owner approached their booth. His warm smile was contagious, and his voice rumbled low and soft.

"My best customer!" Pop declared, patting Jughead on the arm. "And who is this beauty keeping you company tonight?"

"Betty," she replied quietly. "Jughead insisted this was the best place to grab a midnight snack in the entire world."

Pop Tate beamed, setting down menus before them. "Well, I'd definitely claim best in the city. A pleasure to meet you, Betty. I know he's ready to order, but I can give you a moment if you like?"

Flipping open the menu, Betty immediately spotted the perfect treat to sop up the tequila in her tummy. "No need. I'll have the cheese fries and a strawberry shake."

"Usual for you, Jug?"

"You got it, Pop. Thank you."

As the kindly owner headed back behind the counter, Betty leaned in. "And your usual is?"

"Bacon cheeseburger and fries, chocolate shake." His stormy blue eyes sparkled as he listed off his treats of choice. "Nothing like it in the world."

"How'd you find this place?"

Slouching back against the bench, Jughead quietly recounted his childhood—one filled with poverty and food scarcity. He and Toni frequently scavenged for food, begging for change for extra treats. They'd stumbled onto the diner when they were nine and promptly began swiping fries off unfinished plates while splitting a shake with a collective pocketful of change.

"Took Pop three days to realize what was happening. From then on, he'd bring us a plate of fries with our shake. Kept our bellies full."

Jughead's gaze drifted out the window, his mind clearly lost in the past. Betty's heart ached for him and Toni and their struggle to simply have enough to eat. She was also moved by his willingness to share what were clearly painful memories with a relative stranger.

"I guess this place feels like a home to you, then."

He shook himself slightly, pushing errant curls out of his eyes. "Yeah, it does. When I got a job, I made a promise to come here as often as possible and support the place. It does well anyway, but I want to repay him for all he did for us."

"You're a very loyal man." Betty glanced over his shoulder, eyes widening at the approaching owner. "Jesus, those shakes are in vases!"

"Not quite, but they're definitely larger than anywhere else in the city."

The strawberry shake placed before her was easily an entire pint of ice cream spun into a lightly frothy confection. Garnished with a healthy dollop of whipped cream and a halved strawberry, it was a work of art. Yanking her phone from her booth, she snapped a photo of her monster milkshake—sneakily framing it to include a side profile of Jughead slurping his.

The first sip was heaven and Betty hummed in bliss. "Maybe I didn't need the fries…"

"They reheat well, don't worry." He gestured to his glass, nudging it in her direction. "Did you want to try mine too?"

They traded glasses, each deciding that while the other shake was also delicious, they preferred their chosen flavours. No sooner had they shuffled their glasses back across the table, Pop was back with their order: a heaping plate of fries loaded with cheese, and a burger so large, Betty couldn't fathom her jaw managing a bite.

They dug into their food, savouring their first morsels of drunken debauchery. Betty was pleased to learn that Pop not only used a rich cheese sauce, but sprinkled in grated cheddar to add an extra gooey goodness. Across the room, the jukebox shuffled up an old Paramore song Betty recognized from pre-teen summers spent at Veronica's house, sipping sparkling juice by the pool and taking ridiculous quizzes in Seventeen.

" _It's all about the exposure, the lens, I told her  
The angles are all wrong now  
She's ripping wings off of butterflies—_"

"Wow," Jughead murmured.

Betty startled, dropping her fork. "What? Oh shit, was I singing?"

"You sound incredible. You should keep singing," he urged.

Betty flushed, stabbing her fries violently. "No, no way. This song's in the wrong key for me, anyway," she lied.

Tilting his head, he studied her intently. A shiver rolled down her spine as his gaze bored into her mind, consuming all rational thought. What was he thinking? What came after this late-night meal in this surreal diner nestled on the edge of her neighbourhood? What did he think of _her_?

"You're hard on yourself, aren't you?" he deduced.

"It's all I know," she confessed quietly. "My mother spent my entire life telling me that everything I did fell short and when you hear that for so long, it's hard to imagine…" Bowing her head, she felt her hand balling into a fist.

"Your mother is a jealous woman and you should never listen to her again," he firmly told her, reaching across the table to cover her hand.

Her fingers slowly uncurled, allowing his to thread between them. "Thank you."

She dug into her meal, ignoring her mother's whispers in her skull that the cheese would make her fat, that no one would ever want her, that eating unhealthy gave you cancer. Because right now, the most beautiful man she'd ever seen was staring adoringly at her with a trace of ketchup at the corner of his mouth, and his opinion mattered more than that of an angry woman who'd only recently walked away from a loveless marriage.

"Come here," she whispered. "You've got something…"

"Hmm?"

As he leaned in, her lips tentatively found his. It was a soft kiss, a shy one after their steamy moment in the dim light of the bar. He sighed against her mouth, his hand gently cradling her cheek.

"You don't have to make an excuse to kiss me," he murmured.

Her heart fluttered wildly as she dabbed his mouth with her napkin. "I know," she breezed. "It was just a fact."

"A fact," he echoed coyly. "Here's a fact for you: kissing increases oxygen levels to the brain."

"Does it? I'd like to test that with an experiment," she replied.

 _What am I doing? Is this flirting? Nerdy flirting?_ Betty's stomach was alive with a bevy of butterflies battering against her insides, seeking freedom. Jughead, to her relief, seemed intrigued by her statement. Signalling for the check, he downed his milkshake.

"Lead me to your lab, Doctor Cooper," he teased, throwing down enough cash to cover their meal and then some.

* * *

It started in the living room. Or maybe the entrance of her apartment. Hell, the intense kiss in the elevator—the one where she'd pinned Jughead against the wall and slid her tongue between his welcoming lips—was likely the spark. But however it had begun, Betty knew where it was heading: her bedroom.

The couch was a welcome stop along the way.

Backing Jughead up, she gently shoved him down onto the plush leather seat and straddled his lap. She tugged eagerly at his faded grey tee, tossing it over her head as his open mouth trailed hot kisses down her neck and along her nearly-bare shoulders. The way his tongue darted ever-so-lightly along her porcelain skin sent a shudder through her legs. Judging from the throbbing in his jeans, he was as aroused as she was.

Hands roamed, frenzied and full of need. Lips collided and tongues tangled as she felt Jughead tug the bottom of her glittery top in silent question. Her hands slid from their iron grip of his shoulders, making quick work of discarding the flimsy fabric to a corner unknown. His eyes darkened, from tranquil sea to tropical storm, studying her nearly naked form.

"You're so damn beautiful," he growled.

Running a hand down his rippled abdomen, Betty smiled approvingly. "You're definitely the sexiest man I've ever met."

"I am so grateful that you've clearly never met a celebrity or athlete," he quipped, running his hands up her flat stomach to cup her breasts.

"You have plenty of muscle, Jughead Jones. I'm curious what you can do with it."

 _Who is this woman and how is she controlling my mouth?_ Was this what that song meant about blaming it on the Cuervo—or in her case, Patron? Sinking further down onto her knees, Betty rocked her core against his groin, craving the sweet relief of friction. Jughead's mouth captured her nipple through the scant lace of her bra, sucking hard, and she leaned closer in encouragement.

"The tongue is a muscle," he murmured as he moved to her other breast, lavishing attention to her sensitive peak.

Her hand fisted in his hair as she ground against him in a lazy figure eight. "Fuck, that feels good."

He shifted beneath her, a guttural growl lodged in his throat. "You're killing me, Betts."

His mouth captured hers anew as his hands slid down her hips, curving beneath her skirt to grab her ass. Her body ached for more contact as she bucked against the hard erection in his jeans and he met her with an upward thrust. She steadied herself on the back of the couch as Jughead's fingers slid closer to her centre, ghosting along the hem of her silk panties.

"Betts," he murmured, breaking off the kiss. "Are you okay?"

"I'm so much more than okay." She moved in to kiss him, but was halted by a steadying hand upon her abdomen. "What?"

"Look, you've been drinking tonight, and I just… I don't want you to regret anything." His stormy eyes met hers, earnest and questioning. "I won't hurt you. If you can't consent—"

"Juggie, shh." Her finger pressed to his lips, silencing him. "I've been far drunker than this. The fries soaked a lot up. I know what I'm doing. Now please, _please_ , touch me?"

Her hand covered his, sliding it between her legs, and they groaned in unison. Her teeth gently sunk into his neck as he explored her body with his deft fingers. As good as this felt, there were simply too many clothes still in their way.

"Bedroom?" she pleaded.

"Bedroom," he agreed gruffly.

To her erotic surprise, Jughead found a way to stand up despite her straddling him, hooking her legs around his waist. Her arms clung to his neck as he carried her down the hallway to her bedroom. It took an angled approach, but he made it through the narrow doorway without clipping her knees against the frame.

Laying her down on the plush down duvet, he stared at her reverently. His hand hooked around the hem of her skirt, tugging questioningly. Betty nodded eagerly, arching her hips as he stripped her to her bra alone. Her hand slid beneath her back, unhooking the closure and tossing the garment aside as he shed his jeans and boxer briefs.

 _Um, wow._ He put every boyfriend she'd had to complete and total shame in _every_ way. He dug the knife into her memory of those exes just a little further when he produced a condom of his very own without prompting.

"Just in case. No pressure," he insisted.

She giggled softly, beckoning him closer with her fingers. "I definitely want to put that to use tonight," she reassured him.

Time lost meaning for Betty as Jughead made it his personal mission to give her the sexual satisfaction Cosmo had always insisted she should seek out, but had never found with any of her lovers. Every inch of her skin was showered with kisses and licks. Every curve was worshipped, every erotic button pushed until she was writhing beneath his touch.

Clinging to each other in the darkness, she gasped as their bodies fused in a fevered bliss, every movement driving deeper until she was sure she would scream his name if she didn't bite her lip. Legs tangled and lifted, knees hooked on his hands and his forehead pressed to hers. Her skin was scorched, her body alight with his caresses and she was only too happy to burn alive.

"I'm close," she blurted out.

His beautiful smile sent her heart into free fall. His calculated thrusts sent her body right over that same cliff.

They collapsed together, Betty cradling him to her chest as she gasped for air in hungry gulps. Jughead, too, was panting against her shoulder between soft kisses along her collarbone. Her heart was battering its way out of her chest, seeking freedom. Seeking _him_.

"Oh my God," she murmured.

"I concur," he whispered hoarsely. "I hate to leave your side, but clean-up…"

"Mmhmm, go ahead."

The absence of his warmth against her was physically painful. Betty hugged her arms to her chest, suddenly self-conscious. That creeping fear that had driven her off the dance floor was rising within, whispering in disdain. Closing her eyes to steady herself, she didn't notice his return until his hands gently seized her wrists.

"You're too sexy to hide," he gently rebuked her.

Her eyes fluttered open, seeking strength in his kind features. "Another thing I don't usually do," she explained softly.

"But you wanted to do it, right?"

"Yes, Juggie. Very much so. But old neuroses die hard."

His arms enveloped her, pulling her against his chest in a loose spooning position. She tugged his arm closer, tucking it tightly around her frame. It felt so safe here, so natural to be in his arms. His lips pressed against the top of her head and she sighed happily.

"Will you stay?" she asked tentatively.

"If you let me."

Turning her head sideways, she craned her neck to kiss his cheek. "Well, this is me letting you."

He pulled her closer, tucking her head beneath his chin. "Then this is me staying the night."

She hummed happily as her eyes closed, the late hour creeping up on her. Somewhere between soft declarations of _perfect night_ and Jughead tugging her ponytail free, she slipped into the quicksand of dreams.

Beyond her slumber, a disbelieving man cradled her tightly, whispering gratitude for meeting her.

* * *

 **Whew! Looks like matchmaker Toni knew exactly what she was doing. But what about the sober morning after? Will Betty panic? Will Jughead's anxiety overwhelm him? Will these two bother to put clothes on? See you next time for more college band AU goodness.**

 **Don't want to wait and somehow missed my first Riverdale multi, Gaslight? Link's in my profile.**


	5. Chapter 5

**What's this? A second update this week?**

 **As promised, since I have finished this story, I will now be posting biweekly until the end! (For the curious, it's 9 chapters plus an extended length epilogue).**

 **Well, there's got to be a morning after... are our lovelies okay with what happened last night? Let's find out...**

 ** **Disclaimer: Not my chess board - just shuffling the pieces for a few turns. Also, please note the rating is a hard T for this tale.****

* * *

As Betty's eyes opened Saturday morning, she was aware of three things:

1) Her head hurt like hell;

2) She was sleeping naked, something she'd never done in her life; and

3) That a softly snoring, equally naked man was sleeping beside her, his right arm draped lazily across her waist.

Yawning quietly, she carefully turned her head and grinned at the sight of her companion. Ebony curls were tumbling across his forehead, his expression relaxed. Those stormy blue eyes of his were hidden beneath his slack eyelids, but the half-smile of his lips had her heart doing backflips.

 _Oh my God, what did I do last night?_

Her obsessively organized nature kicked into overdrive, despite her brain tissue still being steeped in tequila. She'd taken up a stranger's offer to visit the kind of bar her mother had warned her about for years. She'd danced with a stranger—no, she'd _dirty danced_ with said stranger. She'd kissed said stranger repeatedly and danced on a table at his behest. And oh right, she'd brought a guy home on the first kinda-sorta-date and had mind-blowing sex.

And while old Betty was shrieking in a panic, the Betty who'd vowed to start living her life as honestly as possible lightly kicked her feet against the mattress as she stifled a giggle.

 _I did exactly what I wanted to do, and I loved every damn minute of it!_

Now… what to do about him? Studying her slumbering guest, she pushed aside all questions of what they were, what they could be, or what her mother would think of being introduced to a man who willingly called himself Jughead. _One moment at a time_ , she reasoned. Whatever they'd shared—were sharing?—it was wonderful. There was no sense worrying until a sober conversation happened.

But if he was feeling as rough as she felt, Betty had a perfect remedy. Gingerly lifting his arm, she maneuvered herself from beneath it and slid quietly out of bed. Grabbing a silk robe from her bedroom door, she headed down the hall to the bathroom and hurriedly relieved herself and scrubbed her face and teeth. A shower, however, seemed impossible without coffee.

Popping a cup into her Keurig and hitting brew, she opened the fridge door and frowned. No fresh fruit, sadly, but the essentials were on hand. Trusty mug at her side, she quickly went to work on a time-honoured cure for self-inflicted misery of the alcoholic kind: bacon and eggs. The smell was satisfying and Betty couldn't resist eating a slice of bacon as she finished up the eggs and waited for the toast to pop. Unsure of how Jughead liked them, she'd settled on scrambled as a safe option.

A sudden noise behind her startled her, the spatula hitting the counter as it fell from her hand. Spinning around, she found a sleepy, rumpled Jughead, clad only in boxers, stumbling into her kitchen.

"Juggie, you scared me!"

"I smelled bacon," he mumbled. "I was dreaming of it, then I smelled it."

Betty grinned, reaching for her spatula to give the eggs a final turn. "So all I've gotta do to beckon you is cook bacon? Good to know."

Rubbing his eyes, Jughead edged closer, surveying the waiting plates and frying pan. "Did you make me breakfast?"

"Of course I did. You've got to be hungover, too." The toaster popped, and Betty slid past him, flicking the stove off as she moved. "Go sit."

Muscular arms encircled her from behind. Betty shivered as Jughead's lips found the nape of her neck.

"You are the best woman ever, Betty Cooper."

"Really, it's nothing…"

"Not to me." With one more kiss to her cheek, Jughead complied with her directions and settled in at the small dining table. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Aside from the headache? Wonderful," she demurred, buttering their toast. "Coffee?"

"Please. Black."

Betty slid a fresh mug into place and let her trusty Keurig work its miracles. Plating the simple meal quickly, she sat their plates out on the table and hurried back for their mugs. With a final check of the burners, she slid into the chair across from him and reached for her toast.

"This looks great, Betty. Thank you."

"No trouble at all."

A beat. "I'm wonderful, too. In case you were wondering…"

Betty's cheeks flushed as she drew a steadying breath. "I'm, um, glad we agree."

They ate breakfast in relative silence, aside from Jughead's casual questions about her kitchen décor and her guitars, which were currently nestled in their respective stands in the corner of her small living room.

"How long have you been playing?"

"Um, nine months," she admitted. "But I practice every day, and I had a little experience as a kid."

"Hey, no need to justify yourself to me," Jughead replied, reaching for his coffee. "Playing an instrument is a skill. You'll only get better with time."

She nodded thoughtfully, popping her last strip of bacon into her mouth. He was so sweet and supportive, the complete opposite of Reggie. Somehow, she suspected that Jughead wouldn't complain about her band or her daily practice-slash-songwriting hour.

"This was excellent, thank you." He downed his coffee and rose, grabbing his plate.

"You're welcome. What are you doing?"

"Dishes?"

Betty shook her head in disbelief. He couldn't be real. What alternate dimension had she woken up inside?

"You're my guest. I'll take care of them," she insisted, pushing her chair out to block his path.

"I really don't mind."

"Neither do I." Snatching his plate away, she stacked her own on top of it. "I appreciate the offer, but I'll handle them."

Jughead was visibly frustrated, but relented. "Your home, your rules. But I want it known that I'm very capable of washing up."

"Duly noted."

Betty sat the dishes in the sink and ran water over them. The cascading splash of the droplets gave rise to a very naughty but very pleasurable idea. An idea that Controlled Betty never would have paid attention to.

"Hey, Juggie?"

"Hmm?"

"Care to demonstrate that washing up skill of yours?"

Turning around, she fidgeted with the silky tie of her robe as she studied his reaction. It took a moment, but when his eyes darkened, Betty's thighs clenched together. Sweeping his hair out of his eyes, he crossed the room quickly, seizing her by the hips.

"You're wearing too many clothes," he whispered.

"Better fix that for me, then."

His deft fingers tugged the dangling tie, releasing the flimsy robe wrapped around her frame. Their mouths met in a furious tangling of tongues and raw need as Betty walked them backwards down the hallway to the shower. And while she was technically clean when they reluctantly emerged—water can only run hot for so long, after all—there was nothing pure about the way he'd massaged her soapy body. Or kissed it. Or kneeled down to better kiss her _every_ inch.

* * *

They'd spent the early afternoon cuddled on the couch, naked at Jughead's insistence.

"I don't have any clean clothes," he'd protested. "It wouldn't be fair for you to wear yours."

And while Betty had always been insecure about her body—her mother's constant monitoring of her diet had definitely messed with her mind—she trusted Jughead's appreciative gaze enough to swallow down the bile of fear and oblige him. They were halfway through _Tangled_ , one of her favourite Disney movies, when a strange chirping beckoned from within the couch itself.

"Shit, I think that's my phone," he cursed, nudging Betty off of his lap.

"Your phone? How on earth did it get... Wherever it is?"

Jughead smirked as his hand slid between the cushions. "Oh, I don't know. It may have been the gorgeous woman aggressively undressing me on this couch last night."

"I have _no idea_ what you're referring to, Mr. Jones."

"Surprised it still has any battery left," he muttered while lifting the cushion. "There you are!"

It had stopped ringing as Jughead's hand closed around the sleek black phone. As he examined the display, his brow furrowed. Betty couldn't quite describe it, but his entire body shifted from his mellow mood to a wall of tension.

"I have to make a call," he blurted out as his thumb swiped the screen. "I'm sorry."

"No, don't be sorry. I'll, um, get dressed."

There was no sense in staying nude, she reasoned. Not now. Not with the dramatic shift in Jughead's mood. Whoever the caller was, it had set him right on edge. Tugging on a pair of panties and fastening a bra, Betty froze.

 _What if he has a girlfriend?_

No, that was stupid. Toni would have told her. She spoke so highly of him and, in sober retrospect, she had a theory that Toni had been playing matchmaker last night. And yet, her mother's warnings about the evils of men loomed large. Not a girlfriend, maybe, but who else could unsettle him this way?

Dressing in denim shorts and a plain black tank top, Betty tousled her hair and drew a deep breath. _Everyone has problems_ , she told herself. _Don't make assumptions. He looks at you like you're the only woman in the world. That's real. The way he's held you for the last hour? That's real. Your panicked thoughts are just that: panic._

Making her way back into the living room, she found Jughead tugging on last night's clothes in a hurry. Noticing her return, he grimaced and hung his head.

"I'm guessing you can't stay and finish the movie," she mumbled.

"No, no I can't." His chest heaved sadly as he beckoned her closer. "I wish I could, but something urgent has come up."

"It's okay, Juggie."

"It's not okay, but it is what it is."

A shirtless Jughead moved towards her and pulled her against his chest. Her head pressed against his heart, listening to it beat. It was racing, wild and fierce. He was upset, or afraid.

"If I could stay all day, I would. Please believe me, Betts." His voice was urgent and shaky as he buried his face in her hair. "You're incredible. Promise me you won't think I left because of you."

"I promise." And she meant it. "Are you okay?"

"I will be." He stepped back slowly, glancing around the room. "Um, one thing: where's my t-shirt?"

"It should be here…"

A frantic search ensued: couch cushions were pulled free from their nestled homes; the couch itself was slid aside; searches were made of the bathroom and bedroom. And yet, there was no sign of the faded grey tee he'd been wearing the night before. Betty was baffled.

"I don't get it. You had it when you came through the door."

"I really need to get going, and I don't think shirtless is an option for the bus."

Betty's eyes widened. "Wait, I may have a solution. I think I have a box of Kevin's things in my closet. One second."

As she hurried down the hall, she heard him call out after her: "As chill of a guy I am, I'm not sure I feel right about wearing your ex's stuff."

Betty burst out laughing as she threw open the closet door. "Kevin? Oh my god, not a chance. For starters, he's gayer than a double rainbow over San Francisco. Plus, he's like a brother to me."

Pushing aside a few boxes of old yearbooks and diaries, she was relieved to find the stash. Kevin had told Betty it was far easier to stash a few days' clothing at her place just in case, rather than have to pack for the full week he usually spent when he visited. Locating a plain white tee, she held it up and nodded. It might be a bit snug, but it would be better than nothing.

"Your gay brother keeps clothes here?" Jughead asked from the doorway.

"Mmmhmm. It's a long story and we don't have time for Kevin-logic." Tugging the shirt over his head, Betty nodded. "That'll do."

"I guess it will." Jughead's phone buzzed inside his pocket and he frowned. "Betty, I—"

" _It's okay_ ," she insisted. "I get it. I'll walk you to the door."

Her bare feet padded quietly beside the soft thumps of his black leather boots. In a moment of impulsive need, she reached for his hand and was relieved that he squeezed hers in reply. Her heart was aching, but why? They'd known each other for less than a day. And yet, he felt as much a part of her as Polly, or Veronica.

He hesitated at the front door, turning towards her with a wistful smile. "This was the best night I've had in a really long time," he confessed.

"Me too. Thank you."

He leaned in, pressing his forehead against hers. Betty closed her eyes, inhaling his scent and committing it to memory.

"Bye, Betts."

"Bye, Juggie."

His departure was swift, boots stomping down the hall in a fevered staccato. He never looked back, not once, as she stood in the hallway and watched him disappear. As he slipped inside the elevator, her eyes widened in horror.

 _I don't have his number. Or Toni's_.

"Well, fuck!" she cursed, as a single tear slid down her cheek.

* * *

 **Oh, Betty! And what on earth is going on with Jughead? I would really love your theories on it!  
**

 **Next time: Betty sorts through the baggage in her head, and the ripple effect of her night with Jughead emerges.**


	6. Chapter 6

****Wow! Thank you so much for the kind reviews! I'm so sorry if I made you late for work, play dates and other obligations, but I'm glad it was because my domestic fluffy-sexy bliss made you happy.****

 ** **Okay, maybe I split them up by the end of the chapter, but remember: I am a diehard Bughead shipper. These two will find their way back together. But first, Betty's bestie is a little concerned about her blonde buddy.****

 ** **Disclaimer: Not my chess board - just shuffling the pieces for a few turns. Also, please note the rating is a hard T for this tale.****

* * *

She ignored the phone until the sixth ring, at which point she glanced at the display and groaned. She was perfectly content with the pint of salted caramel gelato she was nursing while watching _Almost Famous_ for the tenth time. However, if there was one undeniable truth in the universe, it was that Veronica Lodge was the most persistent human being alive. If she wanted to talk, she would find a way—including showing up at Betty's door. And considering the blonde was wearing nothing but a faded grey tee that skirted her mid-thigh, it was best not to tempt fate.

Veronica's second call rang through and Betty reluctantly answered. "Hey, V. What's up?"

" _What's up? I don't know, maybe it's you bailing on one of our last practices before the Open Mic?_ "

Oh, right. She'd cancelled this morning, opting to enjoy a Lazy Sunday with Netflix and Italian dessert. She should have known her email wouldn't suffice. Betty Cooper, the girl who never called out sick, doing just that? Highly suspect.

"I'm sorry, V. But really, what is there to practice? Archie will pick all the songs, as usual, and he'll pick two of the ones we've been playing for months, along with this new one, which is a straightforward rocker. We have practice every night this week and the gig's Friday. We're good."

She heard Veronica huff angrily over the line and braced herself for a lecture. Because one was certainly coming. She could practically hear Veronica planting her arms upon her hips.

" _That's where you're wrong, B. Archie and I got into it yesterday. I told him he's being a controlling dick and that your song is better than his early stuff anyway. I told him I'd close my legs permanently if he didn't start treating you like an equal member in the band._ "

Betty was floored by her best friend's words. She'd gone to bat for her with Archie, had laid their relationship on the line. More important, she'd done so without any prompting or request from Betty.

"Have I told you that you're an amazing friend?"

" _Maybe once or twice. You're welcome to tell me every day_ ," Veronica teased. " _So, since you clearly do not sound sick to me, why are you really hibernating?_ "

"I have a migraine," Betty lied. "Menstrual migraine."

" _Liar. You borrowed a tampon off me a week ago! Betty Cooper, if you don't start spilling, I'm going to come over there with emergency chocolate and pry it out of you._ "

"Fine, fine! But you're not allowed to judge me, or interrupt."

Taking a swig of coffee, Betty unfurled her weekend, beginning with meeting Toni and moving through her very un-Betty bar adventures. Her friend hooted as she recounted her dance with Jughead and the subsequent bet she'd lost, and applauded her decision to invite Jughead home. Veronica, to her credit, only interrupted once.

"Hold up, hold up: details, Betty. How was the sex?"

Digging her spoon into the now melting gelato, Betty giggled. "Which sex: Friday night, or the oral in the shower Saturday?"

" _SHUT UP. Dear God, who is this angelic man? And BOTH, Betty!_ "

"Incredible," Betty told her, licking gelato off her spoon. "It was like he knew exactly where to touch me, V. I'm tingling just thinking about it."

" _Wait, is he there now? Is that why you're playing hooky?_ "

"I wish." Rising from the couch, she headed into the kitchen and stowed the gelato in the freezer. "He got a call yesterday and whatever it was, it upset him. He bolted out of here, apologizing the whole time."

 _"Damn it, I knew it._ _Too good to be true. Boy's got a girlfriend._ "

"I really don't think so. Toni vouched for him, and I believe her. I believe what I saw and heard. But there's something heavy going on in his life, and maybe that means he doesn't have time for… whatever we could have been."

Veronica clucked her tongue sympathetically. " _Well, call him tomorrow maybe, see what's up_."

Betty groaned. "That's the problem: I forgot to get his number. And I don't even have Toni's number. She has mine, though. Oh, and he has one of Kevin's shirts."

" _Girl, did you literally rip that man's clothes off? Because I wouldn't blame you after Reggie the one-pump chump._ "

Betty chuckled softly, leaning against the fridge. "No, I did not. We couldn't find his shirt and I lent him one of Kev's. I found his shirt this morning, actually. It was, I kid you not, on top of the dining room light fixture."

Veronica's laughter boomed over the line. " _Hell yeah!_ "

"My shirt now. I'm wearing it," Betty admitted shyly.

" _Oh, B. You've got it bad._ "

"I do, but I don't. Look… If he shows up at my door, I'm not turning him away. I feel like we have this weird connection. Like we get each other better than most people understand us. But even if I never see him again, I don't regret a single thing." Running her fingers along the hem of his shirt, she smiled. "For the first time in my entire life, I wasn't Perfect Betty Cooper. I wasn't the Valedictorian, the Sister, even the Singer. I was just a woman, hanging out with a man who liked me _as I am_. And even if he never calls me or comes back, that's given me the strength to be true to myself and what _I want_ , not my mother or anyone else."

Betty headed back into the living room, grabbing a can of soda on her way. She'd apparently managed what was previously believed impossible: stunning Veronica into silence.

"V? You there?"

" _I am. I am, B. I just… Is that how you feel about me, too? That I'm forcing you into some weird box that isn't you?_ "

Slumping onto the couch, Betty frowned. "Most of the time, no. But the other day, when Archie basically told us we could work on my song in that tone that was so dismissive… and you let him talk to me like that, V. I know it's hard being caught between us, but at times like that, I feel like Archie wishes I'd shut up and be complacent, and it reminds me of my mother."

" _You're right. I'm sorry. I should have addressed it immediately, instead of letting you sit with that. But I'm proud of you for flipping Mama Cooper off and going for your dreams. All of your dreams. And please, if you ever catch me doing shit like this, don't keep it inside. Tell me. You're my best friend, and I don't want to hurt you._ "

Veronica's normally boisterous voice was small and tentative, brimming with guilt. And while half of Betty wanted to take it back, she knew that her growth could not continue unless her friends were nurturing her.

"I promise, V. See you tomorrow at practice?"

" _You know it. Bring a song, B. We're doing three on Friday. At least one of them should be yours._ "

Goodbyes exchanged, Betty slumped back into the soft cushions and sighed. A song. A song the band could learn in four days. A song she was willing to share with a potentially unfriendly crowd.

 _Be brave, be brave, be brave_.

She hugged herself tightly, tugging the neckline of Jughead's t-shirt over her face and inhaling deeply. It smelled of something crisp, like pine, but also musky with sweat and something uniquely _him_. He would want her to be bold, dance on the proverbial table and play a song.

Trouble was, she only had one song, and it wasn't one hundred percent complete. She was still tinkering with the second verse of "Back of My Heart" and everything else was fragments.

Closing her eyes, she stretched out along the length of the furniture and forced herself to breathe deeply. Anxiety was swelling within her, a hurricane of butterflies lodged within her guts, and she needed to bring it under control. Unwittingly, Jughead came to mind: smiling softly, holding her hand as the world seemed unsteady beneath her feet. Her lips curled into a smile as she drew another steadying breath and remembered waking up beside him, feeling safe and warm.

And there it was: unbidden, but undeniable. A perfect solution.

Reaching across the coffee table for her notebook, Betty grinned. Veronica was going to love this. Her pen in hand, she flipped to a fresh pages and began jotting down lyrics.

 _Boys don't get me  
Girls wanna get with me…_

* * *

The next four days flew by in a blur of classes, rushed papers and three-hour band practices. The Open Mic was all they'd worked for, but Betty was certain she would throw up on the tiny stage or break a string and freeze.

They'd settled on a setlist: a tried and true tune they'd used at a campus talent night; Archie's new song, "Runaways" (which Betty had to admit, was a fun rocker); and Betty's brand new, as-yet unnamed song.

It had spilled out of her Sunday afternoon in two furious hours, a sassy rocker with a simple melody and a flirty vibe. In her mind, it deserved a Debbie Harry swagger in the delivery—not a taunt, but almost a dare. Veronica had immediately smirked at the sheet music, nodding her approval.

"Almost every girl can relate to this, Betty. I love it!"

Archie, to her surprise and delight, had also praised the song, admiring the playful lyrics most of all. "I struggle with keeping it playful," he told her. "This is great, Betty. Your voice is going to add balance to our songs."

They'd worked aggressively on the new tracks, although Valerie had informed them Monday that she needed to step away from Sweetwater to focus on her full-time role with her synth-pop band. "I'll do the Open Mic, but I really can't keep juggling both bands," she explained.

They'd known Valerie was a pinch hitter from the start, but it didn't make the finality of her announcement any easier to bear. The trio of friends had spent several hours throwing around possible drummers or ways to fill the slot, but it was ultimately Archie who stepped up with a glimmer of hope at their final practice.

"So, I called in a favour from an old friend," he explained, setting down his guitar. "He doesn't know if he's up for the challenge, or if he can do it full time, but he offered to come check us out tomorrow and discuss it."

"Is he reliable?" Betty inquired.

"Definitely. I've known him for a long time. But he hasn't played since high school, so he's nervous."

"Well, I only started learning _after_ high school, so we're even," Betty quipped. "Even if he can hold us together for a few more months, we can audition people and find a solid new bandmate."

"Exactly what I was thinking." Turning to Valerie, Archie smiled. "I am really grateful for all of the time you've put into this, Val. We couldn't have gotten this far without you."

Valerie's bronze cheeks flushed as she reached for her sticks. "Guys, I'm only a so-so drummer to begin with. But you're welcome. Now, what are we starting with?"

"Let's start with Betty's song," Archie suggested, tuning his guitar. "I want it to shine tomorrow."

Strapping on her bass, Betty nodded. "Alright, let's do this. 1, 2…"

* * *

 **Betty has already grown so much since chapter 1! I love that she's asserted herself and that Archie and Veronica are both supporting that growth. But where is Jughead?**

 **See you Thursday, when we find out where he's been and how he's feeling...**


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank you so very much for all of your kind reviews and welcome, new readers! You've jumped on board at a very good time IMO.**

 **Jughead... where ARE you? I think we're overdue for a chapter from his POV. I promise, you'll all forgive him his absence quite quickly. I mean, this is BETTY COOPER he's been ignoring. Rock babe Betty.**

 **Also... it's Open Mic Night, which means Sweetwater is going to play a gig! You can listen in yourself by playing the following songs (and if nothing else, play the last one, because the entire fic was born from its lyrics)**

 **SWEETWATER SET**  
 **21 and Invincible - Something Corporate (Archie's old song)**  
 **Runaways - Goodnight, Sunrise (Archie's brand new song THAT USED TO BE CALLED BETTY SAYS, YES AS IN RIVERDALE)**  
 **T-Shirt - The Beaches (Betty's new song, and it is THE SOUL OF THIS FIC)**

 **I'm so, so excited for this chapter and the next. It's the part of the story I saw first in my head.**

 **Disclaimer: All quoted lyrics belong to their respective artists/writers. Riverdale's not mine, either. Bad-ass rocker Betty and son-of-a-biker Jughead are all mine, though.**

* * *

Jughead was ten seconds away from bailing on this damn night out.

The cruel chirping of his alarm yanked him from an all-too brief nap on the battered leather couch in his mother's living room. Grumbling angrily, he hit snooze and flopped back onto the thin pillow. At least he'd managed four hours of peace, thanks to his father stepping up and lending a hand. His sister was enjoying a rare afternoon of fun at the aquarium downtown with dear old dad, leaving Jughead with a few blissful hours of rest. She was spending the night afterwards, freeing him up to do whatever he chose. And while he'd made a promise, his instincts nudged him to look for a certain blonde beauty with a smile that could melt ice caps.

 _No, no. You waited too damn long._

It had been one week precisely since Toni had brought Betty into his life. Six days since he'd bolted from her home without a proper explanation, let alone grabbing her number. Toni had remedied that the other day, but every time he started to dial, he wanted to puke. His mind raced with all of the terrible conclusions she'd undoubtedly made about him and he would cancel the call before ever hitting send.

How the hell would he explain his life to her, anyway? _Oh hi, Betts. So sorry for rushing away. My mother OD'ed for the fourth time in two years, my parents are divorced, my dad has a record, and if I hadn't taken temporary custody of my sister, they were going to stick her in a group home again._

The paperwork was secured, the requisite hoop jumping completed and his sister was no longer sobbing or screaming over how blue their mother had looked when she found her. But it had also been six days, and that was an asshole move, in his mind.

He would never regret fucking things up with a woman as much as he regretted fucking them up with Betty Cooper.

Toni was adamant that he call anyway. She believed that they had a connection, that Betty would be understanding and welcome him back. But Jughead knew better from the last time, when his mother had snorted so much cocaine, she'd dropped in the street and foamed at the mouth. His girlfriend had quickly grown weary of the late hours he kept and his chronic failure to charge his phone. They'd broken up the day his mother checked out of rehab early.

If it wasn't for his sister, he wouldn't give a damn. Jellybean was only fifteen, still young enough to require a legal guardian, and he refused to let social services drop her in a hell worse than the one she lived in. But this most recent ride on the addiction merry-go-round was mercifully going to be his last: he'd hired a lawyer to represent him, with the intent of petitioning for sole custody of his sister. She needed stability, and sadly, their mother was unable to provide that.

He staggered to the shower reluctantly, knowing that as much as he wanted to stay home and sleep, he was tired of letting people down. His friend needed him and he would be there. _But I'm definitely leaving early_ , he told himself as he shampooed his hair.

 _I'll give him twenty minutes_ , he affirmed as he brushed his teeth. _I don't even know why he's asking me to come out. I'm not of use to anyone right now_.

Dressing quickly in a t-shirt and jeans, he shrugged on his worn Sherpa coat as protection against the chill and headed across the city. First, he'd deal with his friend's crisis. Tomorrow, he'd find a way to call the woman he physically ached to hold again, and hoped would at least hear him out.

* * *

Lucy's was thrumming with energy as Jughead approached the entrance. Open Mic Nights at the bar, located just off the main university campus, were a particularly large draw. It was a clever move by the owner to take advantage of the arts program just two blocks away to keep beers flowing. He'd run so late, he actually had to wait in line for his ID to be checked and his name to be ticked off on the guest list. His legal name. He refused to speak it aloud, simply sliding his ID to the hostess and pleading for her to keep his secret.

"Ahh." Her finger slid down the page, pausing halfway down. "There you are, Mr. Jones."

"Thank you," he replied emphatically, slipping his licence back into his wallet.

A stamp on his hand and a small wave and he was inside the clearly over-capacity venue. _The things I fucking do for Archie Andrews_ , he thought bitterly as a giggling woman nearly spilled her drink on him.

Speaking of Archie, he was late: a familiar voice was piping over the speakers as the crowd cheered on the pop-infused rock his friend was known for. This song was one he'd written in senior year of high school, and Archie fell back on it often as a tried and true tune. It was catchy, it showcased his range, and usually got the drunks dancing. Case in point: the area in front of the stage was filled with men and women swaying along, drinks in hand.

He'd show his face upfront, let Archie know he'd made it out, but he needed a drink of his own. Signalling the bartender, he grabbed a pint of Stella and leaned against a back wall, listening to Archie sing.

 _"When my mom hears this song, she'll tell me I'm crazy  
She'll say to me, 'Son, you're much too young. Go have some fun. Don't waste your youth like I did'  
Whoa, 21 and invincible  
Whoa, can't wait to screw this up…"_

Knocking half of his beer back, Jughead closed his eyes and took a deep breath. No matter how heavy his life drama was, he had to let it go. Archie had been his friend since the Andrews family had moved to the city in grade five. He'd shielded him from schoolyard taunts (and high school asshole jocks) and offered a place to go after school when his father's gang dealings had come with a side of alcoholism. They'd always made an odd pair, but deep down, they each struggled with absentee mothers and a sense of never living up to what others demanded.

When Archie had called him Wednesday night, Jughead was both exasperated and exhausted. In Archie's defense, Jughead hadn't called him about Gladys' latest OD; he was tired of telling his friends the same sad story. But listening to Archie's hopeful vision for his fledgling band, he couldn't help but long for a little optimism by contagion. If he could help him make his dreams come true, he would have to find a way to do so. He owed him a lot.

The first song wrapped up to appreciative hoots and applause, and Jughead slowly wove his way to the back of the dance floor to get a better look at the band. Archie had mentioned a co-lead singer as part of their set-up, which surprised Jughead since Archie had always seemed content to be the star of everything he undertook.

"She's so good, Jug," Archie had told him. "Plays bass and guitar, and she can really sing."

Being on the shorter side, he could only see Archie at first, tuning his guitar as he introduced their next song as a brand-new track. _Bold choice_ , he mused. If the lurking label rep rumours were true, it was a gamble to use untested material.

"This one's called Runaways!"

The opening riff was pulsing and frantic, perfectly in sync with the idea of running from someone. Archie and the mystery vocalist (whose face was completely blocked by a six foot six behemoth) were harmonizing and Jughead nodded along enthusiastically.

" _She was made of milk and honey  
He was made of wood and steel  
They were stars in supernova  
A runaway ferris wheel…_"

Whoever she was, she was fantastic—a gritty, punk edge to her vocals provided a contrast to Archie's smooth, soulful sound. By the end of the second verse, he was too curious about her to remain at the back of the dancing throng of people. Spotting a path to cut closer to the stage, he weaved in and out of the crowd and cut along the side to find a better vantage point. As the stage came fully into view, Jughead's stomach dropped.

The mystery co-lead was none other than Betty Cooper.

 _This can't be happening. It can't be._ But it was, and as she yanked her mic from its stand and jostled Archie playfully, he was mesmerized.

 _"Oh, I'm all about it  
I can't live without it  
But you don't wanna talk about it  
Oh, I'm sick of trying  
And I'm done fighting  
But you always show up uninvited…"_

A third voice chimed in as their vocals swelled, a curvy Latina on the bass adding a new layer to their call-and-response lyrics. Jughead's heart was pounding in his chest as Betty's perfect pout pleaded for the drunk fans upfront to _tell me that you want me, you need me_. And they did want her. But Jughead _needed_ her.

The jealousy was bubbling up within him, second only to his heartache. How could he possibly help Archie now? He'd hurt a member of his band—a talented, incredible singer who oozed with charisma and was also a genuinely sweet and intelligent woman.

He finished his beer quickly, admiring every inch of the beauty on stage: her faded black jeans, torn at the knees; her black and white striped tank top with a fluttering layer emphasizing her bust line; her wavy hair in the frustratingly perfect ponytail; and her stunning green eyes. She was every bit a rock star, and he was far beneath her on the cold ground, watching her shoot across the sky.

 _I should leave. Tell Archie I couldn't make it. That I just don't have time for this right now. He'll understand._

Their second song completed, Betty nudged her microphone towards the centre of the stage as Archie took a step to the side. _Wait, is he letting her take the lead?_

"So this next one is also brand-new," Betty began shyly, looping the strap of her bass over her head. "And it comes with a story. A story soaked in tequila."

The crowd tittered and hooted as Archie passed Betty a shot glass filled with a clear liquid that Jughead assumed was the evil spirit. In doing so, Archie spotted him and gave a nod in his direction.

 _Crap, I can't even bail now. He saw me._

Holding up the shot glass to the crowd, Betty knocked it back with a grin. "Ladies, I feel like most of us have a story like this one. A story that ends in faded cotton and Netflix. So this one is for us! It's called T-Shirt."

Betty looked to Archie and nodded. The redhead riffed on his guitar and counted them in to what Jughead would soon recognize as his personal hell. Because Betty's song wasn't just about any old story.

 _"Boys don't get me. Girls wanna get with me,_ " Betty purred.

Jughead's eyes widened, recalling Betty's drink of choice at the Whyte Wyrm. Margaritas. _Tequila_. Jesus Christ, he'd hurt her so badly that she'd written a song about him in six days! A great song, with a throwback seventies rock vibe, but he feared a chorus lurked that would tear him apart.

And yet, it never came.

 _"You left your t-shirt at my apartment  
I'm not giving it back, I'm not giving it back  
I'm not getting even, I was just getting started  
Like a kleptomaniac, I'm not giving it back  
Well, you said you're leaving, so I cut off the sleeves  
And now I let you go…_"

Unconsciously, he'd moved forward, edging closer to centre stage, where Betty was enthralling the crowd with her coy looks and a blatant gesture that traced her chest with a square as she sang:

 _"I'm not sexy  
Itty bitty titty committee…"_

The crowd hooted loudly as she playfully judged her body, although Jughead begged to differ: her breasts were perfect, in his eyes. But even as he smirked at the brashness of the lyric, her eyes met his and he froze, a deer in headlights.

Betty's eyes widened, but she didn't miss a beat as she continued to sing—pointedly staring at him.

 _"Don't take me so serious  
I just like to make a fuss."_

She riffed her bass, diving deep into its swagger as her attention drifted across the crowd. _And now she knows I'm here. Which means we need to talk. I can't keep putting it off. I just hope she can forgive me._

As if he needed confirmation, Betty's gaze fixed upon him, her grin wide, as she repeated the chorus: _"You left your t-shirt at my apartment. I'm not giving it back..."_

That was fine by him. She could have everything he possessed, so long as she would give him another chance.

By the time the song peaked, with Betty's vocals soaring on a high note that elicited loud cheers from the room, he was desperate to find her, to plead his case and hope for the best. He cut his way through the crowd, heading for the back corridor Archie had instructed him to meet the band at after the set.

This was one of those situations Toni liked to refer to as the universe meddling in her life. He just hoped the universe was on his side.

* * *

 **C'mon, of COURSE Jughead is Archie's friend. I like kismet.**

 **So, now that you know why Jughead disappeared for a week, what do you think? Is he forgiven? And what about Betty's fabulously sassy song? Gah. My summer jam forever.**

 **See you next week, and if it's a long weekend for you, have an AMAZING ONE.**


	8. Chapter 8

**I am so sorry about the delay! It's been a chaotic week, and I just couldn't find the time to do a final edit and post. But here we are, and Betty's about to give us her side of Open Mic Night. Will she hear Jughead out? Let's find out.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own the toys in this sandbox, but that won't stop me from having a little fun. This story is a hard T rating.**

* * *

The set was going perfectly, to Betty's delight.

Opening with "21 and Invincible" was a no-brainer: it showed off Archie's range, and it had a pop-punk vibe she loved to play. The crowd had responded warmly, setting the stage for "Runaways"—a great song, in her mind, and not just because she got to sing the majority of it in harmony with Archie. It was brash and about a relationship too full of fire to survive, something she was kind of relating to this week.

Hearing the applause had steadied her for her own composition. It was the first time Archie had showcased her vocals and people were into them. It was a tremendous ego boost, and she was soaring.

"You good?" Archie whispered.

They'd made an agreement that if she didn't feel comfortable debuting her song, they'd fall back on a cover of The Runaways' "Cherry Bomb" for their finale.

"All good," she assured him, reaching for her bass.

The introduction—complete with tequila shot—had been Veronica's idea: "Get the ladies on side, get them laughing because they know this story, and bonus liquid courage," Veronica had explained.

It worked, for the most part: she began to sing, losing herself in the memory of a beautiful man with hurricane eyes and hair that couldn't be tamed. She was brimming with lust and feisty energy as she hit the chorus, and the crowd was actually into it. They liked something _she_ had written. It was an indescribable high.

And then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted him.

She blinked hard, believing it a trick of the mind, but he wouldn't fade away. Jughead Jones was there, at her gig, listening to a song she'd written about a night that had changed her forever. Mysteriously, he seemed frightened of her words, as if waiting to be rebuked somehow. And okay, she was a little annoyed he hadn't called or stopped by, but she'd clung to the belief that maybe he had come by. She was barely home this week, after all. In fact, she'd cleared her entire weekend to make sure she would be home for any surprise visits.

Unable to run off stage, grab him by the shoulders and kiss him until she passed out from lack of air, she did the only thing she _could_ do: she sang to him.

 _"Don't take me so serious  
I just like to make a fuss."_

 _I'm not mad, I'm not mad, I'm not mad_. She willed him to understand that. Unless his explanation was another girlfriend, as Veronica feared, or having to go to jail for killing kittens, she couldn't imagine turning him away without hearing him out.

Losing herself in the music to keep from calling his name out, she was horrified to realize that during the final outro, she'd lost track of him in the crowd. He wasn't where he'd been standing, nor was he, well, _anywhere at all_.

"Don't do this to me again," she whispered frantically.

Veronica embraced her tightly, startling her. "You were amazing, B! Congrats!"

"It's definitely a winner," Archie enthused from behind her.

"V, he's here."

"Who?"

"T-shirt guy!" Betty hissed. "He was in the crowd, but now he's gone!"

Veronica began unplugging Betty's gear, since she was clearly incapable of it herself. "Babe, are you sure you actually saw him?"

"I'm not losing it, Veronica. He was right over there. And I need to find him. Right now."

"But we have to meet Archie's friend now. The drummer, remember?"

Betty rolled her eyes, helping Veronica stuff the guitars into their respective cases. "Tell Archie I had to piss, I don't care. I'm afraid he thinks I'm mad at him, and I'm not! Five minutes, V!"

"Fine, I got your back. Five minutes, though. Archie said his friend can't stay long tonight."

Planting a kiss on her best friend's cheek, Betty hurried down the stage steps, passing her guitars off to the house tech to stow in the green room. Blurting out a hurried thank you, she rushed around the corner towards front of house—and promptly slammed into someone with enough force to stagger them backwards.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!"

"Betts?"

Her heart skipped a beat as she glanced up, recognizing the raven-haired man before her. His eyes were rimmed in shadows— _why isn't he sleeping?_ —but he was still the most handsome man she'd ever met. She bit her lip nervously, suddenly at a loss for words.

"You were amazing up there," he murmured.

"Thank you," she managed. "Juggie—"

"I owe you an apology, and an explanation," he interrupted. "Now, before Archie finds us. If you'll let me."

"Archie? How do you know Archie?"

He beckoned her to follow him down a side corridor, where a lonely ABM stood. "You don't owe me a damn thing, but I'm begging you to hear me out, Betts. You're all I've thought about in every spare minute of the last week."

He was frantic, tugging nervously on his hair. Why was he so upset?

"Of course I'll let you explain," she reassured him. "But how do you know Archie?"

"There you are!"

The two of them spun, responding in unison: "Hey, Archie!"

Their apparently mutual ginger acquaintance was grinning as he dabbed at his sweaty forehead with a towel. "I see you've already met Betty Cooper, our co-lead singer," he continued, addressing Jughead.

"Um, yeah, I have. I was telling her how much I enjoyed the last song."

He glanced over at Betty, seeking back-up, and she screwed on her best Yes Girl smile. "He even says you should stop writing altogether and let me take charge," she teased, willing her posture to relax.

"Oh, really?" Archie moved forward, pulling Jughead into an embrace. "Fucking smart-ass! Always causing trouble, aren't you?"

Veronica peered around the corner, surveying the scene. "Mind if I join the party?"

"Ronnie! Hey, this is Jughead Jones, my long-time friend and, once upon a time, my drummer."

 _Drummer?_ Shit! She'd just sang a song that had clearly left the poor guy a wreck, and he was being recruited to play drums on it? What were the odds? Astronomical, surely.

She watched as Veronica and Jughead exchanged pleasantries, unsure of what to do. Clearly, they needed to sort things out privately. This could never work if they didn't feel the same way. But Sweetwater was so desperate for a drummer, particularly now as they were gaining a little local momentum. _Figures that my one night on the town could ruin everything_ , she lamented silently.

"Betty, you coming?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah! I just need to use the bathroom," she lied.

Archie nodded. "Alright, we're going to head out back, grab some air and chat. See you soon."

Betty watched the trio depart, noting Jughead's nervous glance backwards as he rounded the corner. She cursed quietly, tightening her ponytail. _Damn it!_ Okay, she had to play it cool. Jughead was a smart guy. He'd probably fob Archie off with some excuse to think about it, and then they could talk it all out, right? Yeah, that was a plan. She would play dumb, make small talk, and try and reassure him so he didn't bolt.

 _At least you can get his number from Archie, right? His address too, maybe?_

Yes! Yes, this would work. She'd show up at _his_ place if she had to. Smoothing her top, she rounded the corner and headed for the unisex talent bathroom, craving privacy to push down her panic and touch up her lipstick for a little courage. Her hand closed around the knob, pushing it open, only for a frazzled Jughead Jones to shove past her into the small space.

"I made an excuse!" he blurted out. "Is this okay?"

"Um, yeah! Yeah, it is." She followed him inside, locking the door quickly behind her. " _You're_ Archie's drummer friend?"

"I used to play in high school. It's been years, I'm not great, but that doesn't matter right now." Swallowing hard, he leaned against the furthest wall. "I am so sorry I didn't come by, or call you when Toni gave me your number. I wanted to, but by the time I could, I felt like it was too late. That I'd ruined… this. Whatever this was. Whatever happened."

"Jug—"

"Please, just… I have to explain," he insisted. "I have to. And talking about the… _hell_ that my life is at times, it's hard for me."

He was shuddering, unable to meet her gaze. She recognized that fear. It had greeted her every morning during Polly's coma. And if he was feeling anywhere near as helpless and afraid, it would be crushing him from the inside.

"Okay, Juggie. I'm listening."

"The call was my sister. She found my mother after an overdose. Had to do CPR for two minutes until the medics showed up. She's fifteen years old and this is the fourth time she's seen our mother in the hospital, but the first time she _found her_." Jughead grimaced, staring at the ceiling. "We've all tried to help Gladys, but you can't help someone who isn't ready to let go of their addiction."

Betty's stomach lurched. _Oh my god…_ She pictured herself at fifteen, finding her mother at death's door. No matter how strained things were between them, she would fall apart.

"The first three days were hospital rooms and fighting with social services not to put JB back in a group home. Last time, she was beaten up in there and I won't let her get hurt again. I won temporary custody, but it was a long argument and a little creative accounting from my dad's boss to make me look more gainfully employed than I am," he confessed reluctantly. "My dad does make the money, and he's going to help. But JB is safe and with me. That's all that matters."

"I'm glad she's safe," Betty murmured. "That's a lot to handle for one person."

She wanted to hug him, but wasn't sure if she should. He was so visibly distressed, and she didn't know him well enough to gauge whether he would be comforted or agitated by contact.

"It is a lot, and the last two years have proven too much for anyone I've let into my life," he continued sadly. "And I get that, I do. Which is why I didn't want to call you. I didn't want to lose the best damn thing that has come into my life in so long, and calling you could make that final, as stupid as it sounds. But I was going to call tomorrow. I decided I owed you better, even if it was the opportunity to slam a door in my face. And then I showed up here and you were on stage and I _knew_ I was screwed—"

"Juggie, you're rambling. _Breathe_ ," she pleaded, reaching out for his hand.

He didn't pull away, to her immense relief. He clung to her tightly as he closed his eyes and took several, steadying breaths.

"I'm the best thing that's happened to you?" she whispered.

His eyes flew open in surprise. "I… yeah… I sound like a weirdo, damn it…."

"You know I'm not mad at you, right?" She edged forward tentatively, her body scarcely an inch from his in the confined space. "Hearing what you've been dealing with, I'm amazed you even made it out tonight. Your sister is so lucky to have someone who will fight for her like you do. Do you know that?"

"I'm her brother," he mumbled.

"Not every brother would go that far," she insisted, reaching out to cup his cheek. "Just like not every guy will offer to run away with his queer friend and protect her as a kid. You have the biggest heart, Jughead Jones."

He leaned into her touch, still clinging to her other hand. "Can you forgive me, Betts?"

"This isn't something to forgive. You haven't done anything wrong."

They leaned into each other, foreheads touching, sharing the stale air of the bar bathroom.

"You can't be real," he whispered. "You're an angel."

"I don't think there's anything holy about what we did in my shower," she joked, relieved to hear him laugh. "But since we're confessing things in here, I have to tell you that you're the best thing that's ever happened to me, too."

His lips crashed over hers like the waves lurking within his eyes and she sighed happily at the contact. Her hands slid down and gripped his ass, pulling him against her as his cradled her face almost reverently. She couldn't wait to tell Veronica that she was right—that this man was worth waiting for.

Jughead broke away first, pulling her against his chest. "So, how do _you_ feel about me drumming for Sweetwater?"

"More time with you? I'm in favour of that," she replied coyly. "But I do have three conditions."

Raising his eyebrows, he nodded slowly. "Name them."

"T-Shirt stays in the set, because people like it." At his nervous look, she giggled. "I wrote it with nothing but affection for you. You should be proud that you inspired our future hit single."

He tugged lightly on her ponytail, chuckling quietly. "Alright, alright. Your second condition?"

"I meant what I sang: I'm not giving that shirt back to you. Ever."

"Counter-offer," he mused, running his fingers down her bare arm. "You can keep it as long as you spend tomorrow with me, wearing nothing but that shirt."

"I'm surprised you want me in any clothing at all."

"Well, we can't cook naked. I won't endanger your curves."

She shuddered as his hands gripped her hips, pulling her closer. "You have a valid point, Mr. Jones. Agreed."

"And your third condition?" he queried.

Leaning close—pressing herself against him, she whispered softly in his ear: "You tell me your legal name, someday."

His hands cradled her face, studying her intently. The din of the bar beyond the door faded into the distance. The pull she felt towards him was beyond words or logic. Her entire life—every calculated decision, every misstep, every hesitation—felt designed to carry her to this precise moment in time. To him. And it made no sense and all of the sense in the world.

His furrowed brow relaxed as his lips curved into an expression of wonder, as if he'd heard her every manic thought.

"You trusted me, so I trust you."

Their lips met anew, soft this time, affectionate. Her heart called and his responded in unison, a harmonic feedback. _We belong to each other_.

A pounding on the door evoked tandem curses from the duo. "Betty? You in there?"

"Yes, Ronnie! I'll be right out."

"Jesus, I thought you drowned in there!" Veronica grumbled.

"Um, about them… I don't think we can hide this," Betty cautioned him.

Jughead shrugged. "Why would I want to hide how lucky I am?"

Her cheeks flushed crimson as she pulled away and fixed her lipstick. She felt like the lucky one, but that was an argument for later. Much later. They had better things to do with their mouths, in her opinion, than argue each other's virtues. A dash of glossy pink, a quick blot, and she was ready.

"Showtime," she quipped, reaching for his hand and unlocking the door.

* * *

 **Ahh, my shipper heart is much happier now! These two bring out the best in each other. I can't keep them apart anymore.**

 **We have two more chapters to go, so let's hear it: did their reunion live up to your hopes? Feel free to drop a review. And for those who review every time, THANK YOU. I keep each notification and re-read them as I edit. This story is yours!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Your reviews made a hectic week so much better, seriously! I'm so glad Betty and Jughead's talk made you happy. Now, my favourite stretch of the story: the two of them enjoying their love story.  
**

 **This chapter didn't exist originally. The story went straight into a flash forward epilogue. I got halfway through writing it, and something felt off to me. After a week, I realized the problem: I'd left one particular stone unturned. This chapter addresses it, and I think the story is so much better for it.**

 **If you'd like to party with Sweetwater (and I highly recommend it), you can listen to their set by playing the following songs in order:**

 **Back of My Heart - The Beaches  
Runaways - Goodnight, Sunrise  
Lola + Joseph - July Talk (THIS ONE'S NEW TO THIS STORY AND SO SO GOOD)  
T-Shirt - The Beaches  
21 and Invincible - Something Corporate  
1979 - Smashing Pumpkins**

 ** **Disclaimer: Not my chess board - just shuffling the pieces for a few turns. Also, please note the rating is a hard T for this tale.****

* * *

"I'm going to puke."

"No, you're not."

"I am," Betty insisted, peeking out at the gathering crowd. "It took a cover song to fill this half hour slot. What are we even doing, opening up for a band like Metric?"

Jughead wrapped his arm around her, pulling her away from side stage. "We're winning a local radio contest with our demo, that's what. One night only, Metric is lucky enough to share a stage with Sweetwater on their sneak preview tour."

"Oh, _they're_ lucky, huh?"

"Not as lucky as I am. I get to spend every night with you."

And there it was: that stunning Betty Cooper smile that never failed to steal his breath away. Her arms wrapped loosely around his neck as her lips met his, a ghost of a kiss.

"Charmer."

"I try. Now, will you please come eat your snack and hydrate before our set?"

A small nod and a nervous smile were his reply. He'd take it. And while he was talking an excellent game, Jughead was equally terrified of tonight's show. Sure, it was an intimate tour that Metric had booked to promote their latest album (versus their usual stadium gigs). But it was still four hundred people packed into a club, the most they'd ever played to in the six months since Jughead had signed on as their drummer.

At least he could hide behind his kit. Archie and Betty were front and centre, which meant keeping them calm and collected.

Stepping inside the tiny green room that was their base for the evening, Jughead nudged Betty towards the table of snacks in the corner. "Peach. Now."

"Yeah, yeah," she grumbled quietly.

Seated on a chair in the corner of the room with his guitar, Archie snickered and began to strum. " _Moving to the country, gonna eat a lot of peaches_ …"

"Terrible new song?" Betty spat between sips of water.

"No, a nineties classic." Archie smirked, strumming louder. " _Peaches come from a can. They were put there by a man_ —"

Jughead rolled his eyes. "How you know all this random nineties shit, I'll never know."

The redhead shrugged and tuned his guitar. "My mother's record collection, obviously. Dad prefers blues and prog rock."

A flustered Veronica entered the room, throwing open the door in a dramatic manner that rivalled most soap operas. "I just peed in the same bathroom as Emily Haines. KILL ME."

"Like, the same stall?" Jughead quipped. "Because that's pretty fucking weird, Ronnie."

She shoved past him, angrily tugging on her plum minidress. "UGH! Betty, control your boyfriend's mouth!"

 _An excellent idea_. "Yeah, Betty. Control my mouth for me!"

Betty turned around, nibbling on her peach as she approached him slowly. "You want me to keep your mouth busy, huh?"

He felt his cheeks flush as he nodded. "I mean, if you're up to it."

"Oh, I'm certain I can handle you," she replied coyly, batting her eyes.

He'd dropped his guard, lost in her emerald eyes. Before he could make sense of what was happening, Betty's left hand—tucked behind her back on her approach—shot out, stuffing a wedge of orange into his mouth.

"There, handsome. If you're going to be sour, have a little acid."

Veronica giggled at his misfortune, but Jughead had learned long ago to roll with a proverbial punch. Adjusting the wedge to form an eerie smile, he stalked Veronica around the room, tilting his head in a painfully slow fashion.

"Arrgh! Stop that, it's creepy," Veronica protested.

Jughead's eyes widened, bordering on manic as he continued to leer silently. Archie chuckled as Veronica threw herself into his lap and demanded protection. But it was Betty who stepped in once more, tugging him away by the belt loops on his jeans.

"Behave yourself, or you're sleeping alone tonight."

 _Damn it._ Reluctantly, he chewed his orange while pouting at the woman he loved more than he ever believed humanly possible. Her blonde waves were pinned back behind her ears, keeping her porcelain face bare. Her dark eyeliner and glossed lips were captivating, but it was her Joan Jett-inspired lace-trimmed tank and tight pants that were unravelling him. It was a look she often wore when hanging out with his Serpent family, one she'd recently completed with a leather jacket of her very own.

It was incredibly hot.

A soft knock on the door was followed by the entry of Annabelle, the staffer who'd been coordinating the entire surreal experience. "Hey, you're on in ten. Good to go?"

"I'm going to puke," Betty whispered, tossing out half of her peach.

"We're ready," Archie replied firmly. "Last minute bathroom break, everyone. Now!"

A scramble ensued as Betty rushed across the hall into the bathroom, while Veronica hurriedly reapplied her lipstick. Jughead and Archie relieved themselves quickly and made their way to the side stage, checking that guitars were in place and that their setlists had been laid out for them. At two minutes to curtain, their respective girlfriends joined them.

"It's just like any other show," Archie reassured them. "We go out there, we kick ass, and we reward ourselves with a drink after it's over."

"That easy, Arch?" Veronica queried skeptically.

"Metric saw something in us. That means they think at least some of their fans will enjoy our songs," he persisted. "We've got this!"

Credit where it was due, Archie's cool confidence was a tremendous asset when Jughead's stomach lurched before every set. Betty's shoulders relaxed as she shook herself slightly.

"Alright, you're on!" Annabelle instructed them as the house lights went down.

They made their way on stage, heads held high as Archie insisted. Settling down at his kit, Jughead rolled his shoulders and picked up his sticks. Betty reached for her bass, slinging the strap over her shoulder with a sly smile. It was time for their ritual.

"Hey, Juggie?"

"Yeah, Betts?"

"Try not to stare at my ass for the entire set," she teased, winking at him.

"But it's _right there_ ," he protested playfully.

Veronica rolled her eyes as she took her place at the keyboard. "You two never get tired of that, do you?"

"Nope!" Betty chirped. "And you think it's romantic, so you can drop the act, Ronnie."

With a toss of her jet black hair, Veronica smirked. "Maybe sassing you is _my_ ritual."

Stepping up to his microphone, Archie grinned. "Hey, Brooklyn! We're Sweetwater and we'd like to thank you for coming out early to drink before Metric." The crowd tittered and cheered as he adjusted his guitar. "We're here to give you something to buy seven buck beers to. Enjoy!"

Their set flew by, to their collective surprise: opening with Back of My Heart, they moved swiftly into Runaways as people edged towards the stage. The crowd was in love with Betty from moment one, enthralled with her power vocals and expressive features, while Archie's charisma and wisecracks between songs won them over just as swiftly. Their third song was a new one, a story of role reversals and consent that Betty and Archie had co-written—a first for the band, and a successful experiment. The dialogue-like lyrics caught the audience's attention, but it was the peak of the song that had them cheering.

" _Joseph, you can look, but don't you touch_ ," Betty cooed as she grabbed Archie's hair. " _When I want your hands on my skin, I'LL ASK!_ "

Buoyed by the enthusiastic reception to untested material, T-Shirt was an easy sell. It was one of the two songs on their demo—the demo that had earned them this gig. Veronica was already insisting their first merch item be an Itty Bitty Titty Committee t-shirt, such was its popularity. Of course, the song came with its own ritual: Betty's trademark tequila shot, and her confession that it was written about her boyfriend.

"And yes, I still have the t-shirt!" she playfully announced as the audience applauded. "I _said_ I wasn't giving it back, and I meant it."

For their finale, they'd decided that the one-two punch of 21 And Invincible (a long-standing crowd pleaser) and a cover song would be best, just in case they hadn't gone over well to that point. Happily, it was more of a victory lap as they plowed through their punk-pop staple and ended with a reworked synth-rock version of Smashing Pumpkins' 1979. While they'd known many in the crowd would be unfamiliar with the song, they were counting on its timeless perfection—and Veronica's killer keys—to hook them. By the second chorus, they'd done just that, with Betty and Archie harmonizing.

" _We don't even care, as restless as we are  
We feel the pull in the land of a thousand guilts  
And poured cement, lamented and assured  
To the lights and towns below  
Faster than the speed of sound  
Faster than we thought we'd go, beneath the sound of hope_…"

With an enthusiastic thank you from Archie, they hurried from the stage, allowing their hired techs (with thanks to Cheryl Blossom) to pack up their gear in a hurry. Betty threw her arms around Veronica, giddy and gleaming from the applause, while Archie clapped Jughead on the shoulder, brimming with pride.

"You killed it," came a soft voice from behind them.

Spinning around, even Jughead was stunned to spot Emily Haines herself flashing an encouraging smile as she slipped away to prepare for her own performance. Betty's jaw dropped open in shock as she looked to Archie.

Little did he know, it would hardly be the biggest surprise of the night.

* * *

She should have known this was coming, Betty admonished herself, as they slipped into the crowd to enjoy Metric's set and promptly slammed into Toni Topaz.

"That was fantastic!" Toni gushed, embracing each of them in turn. "We had so much fun."

"We?" Jughead probed.

"You really didn't think we'd miss your grand debut, did you?" came a familiar voice from behind them.

Betty glanced over her shoulder, gasping as Cheryl approached, flanked by Sweet Pea and Fangs. The vivacious redhead was dressed in designer jeans, heels and a sleeveless red top that flared out from her bustline. _Note to self: find a knock-off of Cheryl's surely expensive attire._

Archie's brow furrowed. "How? They didn't give us any comp for this, and it's been sold out forever."

Cheryl laughed, looping her arm through Toni's. "Oh Archiekins, I'm old money, as they say. I called in a favour from an executive at Universal, and then reluctantly procured the rest from StubHub. Now, come! Your fans await."

 _Fans_? Confused looks flew between the foursome, even as Betty poked Jughead in the arm and demanded he confess.

"I'm just as lost as you are, Betts," he insisted, although something in his tone suggested he wasn't entirely truthful.

As they wove around a bar and headed for the farthest corner in the back of the venue, Betty stumbled into Jughead, shaking her head in disbelief at a sea of familiar faces.

Fred Andrews. Hermione Lodge. FP Jones. Cheryl had brought a parent for each of them, including a nervous Alice Cooper. Beside her mother stood her older sister, Polly, leaning heavily on her cane but grinning ear to ear.

"Aren't you glad I dragged you into that pawn shop?" Polly teased.

Throwing her arms around her sister's neck, Betty blinked away tears. "You're the best sister in the world, Pol. I'm so happy you got to see us play."

"When Cheryl called, I booked off work immediately—and requested a plus one," her sister replied, gesturing to their mother.

Specifically, their mother who, until now, had not been told about Betty joining a band, let alone recording a demo. Betty's chest was tight with panic as she studied her mother's neutral expression, seeking some sort of signal for whether to run or run _fast_. She felt Jughead's palm pressing into the small of her back, keeping her steady.

"Hey, mom," she choked out despite her sandpaper tongue. "Um, what did you think?"

She was painfully aware of an audience now, the collective of friends and family all familiar with Betty's fragile relationship with her parents. Alice's hands fidgeted at her sides—her tell of discomfort—as her slight frame trembled. When she spoke at last, Betty was certain the world had stopped.

"Why didn't you tell me you were a rock star?" Alice whispered sadly.

"I'm in a band, mom. I'm hardly a rock star—"

"No," Alice interrupted, raising her voice. "No, you were polished and charismatic and _your voice_! Elizabeth, I haven't heard you sing since choir in grade school, and you sounded lovely then, but now?"

And there it was, that rarest of sights: even as she burst into tears, Alice Cooper was _smiling_. Arms were opened and the women fell together, mother and daughter embracing as Betty had spent her entire life longing for.

"What have I done to make you think you couldn't tell me about this part of your life?" Alice's words were heavy with hurt as they tumbled onto Betty's shoulder.

"You've just always wanted me to be this perfect girl you imagined, mom," Betty replied quietly, pulling back. "I didn't think a rock band fit with your idea of what my life should be, and I didn't want to fight anymore."

"All I've ever wanted is for you to give your full effort in your life. Whatever that life may be, don't live it half-assed." The unspoken dig at her father hung in the air. "I love you, Betty. I don't want to miss out on moments like this."

"I don't want you to, either."

In an act of mercy, Archie piped up. "Hey, celebratory drink time! Everyone's usual?"

"Yes, please," Betty replied quickly.

The awkwardness passed quickly as Sweet Pea and Toni began teasing Jughead about his drumming quirk: he had a tendency to stick his tongue out when the sticks were flying wildly, much to their amusement. The poor man was unaware of it on stage, but they collectively giggled about it in practices.

Polly and her mother stuck close together, each perhaps seeking comfort in the other. Betty sensed the packed venue was unnerving for her sister, given her unsteady legs, but Alice made swift work of dragging a stool from the bar to their far corner, ordering her eldest child to rest. The minutes flew by in a sea of chatter and several rounds of shots before Metric hit the stage and drew their undivided attention.

Halfway through their set, Jughead leaned close and whispered in her ear. "Meh, she's alright, but there's this singer I know, Betty Cooper? Yeah, she's amazing. Emily could take a few notes."

"Oh, stop!" Betty admonished him. "Emily is a queen. _I'm_ taking notes."

"I'm allowed to be biased. I love you."

Her heart skipped as she leaned back against his chest, remembering the first time he'd spoken those words to her. They'd been together for three months, juggling their respective jobs, Betty's schooling and helping his sister cope with her move from Riverdale to the fringe of New York City. FP had taken JB for the weekend, affording them rare time alone that they'd predominantly spent in Betty's bedroom. The only interruption had been a quick meeting with Jughead's lawyer about his petition for custody—one that had ended on a pessimistic note. Social Services was going to challenge the notion that a twenty-two year-old freelance journalist and part-time mechanic could raise a _troubled teen_.

He'd stormed out of the office, brimming with anger, but clearly more afraid of losing JB than anything else. Betty had held his shaking hand on the entire drive back to her apartment, feeling helpless to ease his heartache.

 _"They're going to take her away, Betts." He tossed the folder of paperwork onto her dining room table, huffing angrily. "Because we're trash to them. We're working poor, the children of a biker and an addict. They don't care that I'm her brother, that I would die for her. Their biases are what they live by."_

 _"The system is broken, Jug," Betty lamented. "But we haven't been to court yet. It's not over."_

 _He leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. "I know how this story goes. Social Services has been in our lives since JB was in diapers."_

 _"Well, clearly they haven't been paying attention to the children they were supposedly monitoring if they can't see how bonded you two are. I've known you for a few months and I can see that." Setting her purse down, she unzipped her jacket angrily. "I'm not giving up on JB, and neither are you. We're not letting her go into foster care. She's staying with her family, if I have to raise hell all the way to the governor's office."_

 _Her back was to him, hanging her coat in the closet, when he spoke: "And that is why I love you."_

 _Her brow furrowed, certain she'd misheard him. His voice was scarcely audible, and she… well, there was no way he felt that way, right? It had only been a few months, after all. Not that it had stopped her from telling Veronica last week that she was in love with him._

 _Turning around, she found Jughead standing behind her, shoulders slumped and teeth sunk in his lower lip. Her eyes widened, understanding that no, he'd definitely said what she thought he'd said, because why else would he look as petrified as the night he'd pulled her into the bathroom and apologized?_

 _"Betty Cooper… I-I love you."_

 _Why was he so worried? Her hands reached for his, pulling them from the pockets of his jeans. She knew them so well, knew the faint calluses from his drum sticks, the scar across the right palm from a misadventure with a firework when he was fourteen. She knew how they held her when she was upset, how they knew just what to do to make her body shudder and scream. She wanted to know them in this moment, too._

 _"Jughead Jones, I love you."_

 _Disbelief turned to relief as they kissed, sealing their mutual confession..._

"Betts?"

"Hmm?"

"Where'd you go?"

"A favourite memory," she murmured, kissing his cheek. "Kinda like tonight."

Time slipped away in song and dance, in hugs and happy tears as the group parted ways at the end of the night. Betty's head was spinning from celebratory wine that turned into a bottle service at Cheryl's behest. Her heels were clutched in her hand as Jughead led her down the hallway of her building, the two of them exchanging soft kisses as they staggered along the carpet.

"Tonight was the best," she told him as he unlocked her door.

"Cheryl did good?" he queried.

Three steps inside, she halted. "Wait, did you know?"

"About Polly? Yeah. Cheryl wanted to fly in all of the parents, but I explained that your mother neither knew of your extracurriculars, nor did it seem likely she'd approve, so Polly was a better idea." He hesitated briefly. "You're not mad I didn't tell you, are you? I really thought your sister would be a nice surprise."

"No, Juggie, it was amazing to have so many people I loved in the crowd. I'm just _really_ glad I didn't know they were out there while we were on stage," she admitted. "I was already on the verge of hurling."

Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge for her inevitable hangover, Betty followed Jughead to the bedroom, resisting the urge to flop face-first into bed with her clothes on. Jeans were kicked off, her tank top pitched across the room, her bra flung onto the dresser. Jughead snickered at her as he managed to ball his clothes up and pitch them into her hamper.

 _I know who's cooking hangover breakfast tomorrow, and it's not me_!

"Screw it, sleeping naked," she muttered as her panties hit the carpet.

"No arguments here," Jughead replied enthusiastically.

Her vision blurred slightly as she flopped onto the bed, giggling uncontrollably. Damn it, she was drunk and it was all Toni's fault. Or Cheryl's. _CHONI'S FAULT_. Yes, it was.

"C'mere, wine fiend." Jughead's arm snaked across her waist, pulling her tight against his equally naked body.

"I'm fiiiiiine."

"So the Neil Diamond song tells me. _Red, red wine_ …"

Her hand found his, covering it with a gentle squeeze. "I'm going to pay for this tomorrow, aren't I?"

"Yep." His lips grazed her neck, trailing soft kisses to her collarbone. "I'm not too far gone. I'll take care of you, baby."

"You're the best." At his scoffing laugh, she turned over in his grasp, pressing her forehead to his. "No, no, really. You are incredible. You always have my back—literally, sometimes. Seeing my mother tonight..."

"Yeah, that was intense. You okay?"

She nodded slowly. "Yeah. I mean, it wasn't the reaction I expected. She seemed more upset that I had kept the band from her than the fact I was in a band."

"I noticed that. I suspect your sister played a part in that."

"Oh, definitely. Polly was over her shit after her coma." Her fingers toyed with his hair, twirling the messy curls as she remembered her mother's words. "What she said, about half-assing life? It makes sense. She gave up so many dreams to marry my father, and stayed in a broken marriage because she didn't know what else to do."

"It doesn't make the way she treated you okay," Jughead countered. "Betts, the way you criticize your body sometimes… it breaks my heart."

"I know," she whispered, shifting closer to him. "I'm not giving her a pass. I guess I'm saying that I understand her intentions. And they weren't bad. She just went about it all wrong and I think maybe she's starting to see that."

"And if she doesn't?"

"Then she can get used to being in the dark. I am who I am, and I'm happy, Jug. Really, really happy. And that's thanks to you."

His lips met hers, a feather-light contact. "And you've been the glue holding my life together these last few months. Your endless patience, the way you've just embraced my shitty, chaotic life and my sister… There's no words adequate enough. The only reason I'm not losing it over this custody hearing next week is because I have you to keep me steady."

"You're my family. Both of you. And I'm not going anywhere."

Burrowing closer to him, she pressed her ear to his chest. That heartbeat, steady and strong, reassured her when lingering anxiety burned in her belly. Her eyes closed as she listened and counted beats, her own sonic sheep.

One, two, three, four. His love for her counted her in for slumber's song. Her heart sang it right back to him.

* * *

 **Trivia time: Metric produced The Beaches album that inspired this fic. Metric also just opened for Smashing Pumpkins on their recent tour, which was fantastic. Everything is planned in my stories.**

 **That song Archie's strumming pre-set is Peaches by The Presidents of the United States of America.**

 **We really had to address Betty's opening chapter: her love for her sister, her struggle to deal with her mother and her impossible expectations. I also thought more time with the foursome as a band was definitely needed.**

 **Let me know what you think of anything in this chapter, or what you're hoping for in the epilogue! We're making another 6 month jump into the future.**

 **Thank you, as always, for reading. I hope this made the hiatus a little better for you.**


	10. Epilogue

**My apologies for the delay. My life fell into chaos (still is) and I couldn't find the time to give this a final edit. But it's here at last: the end of the rocker Bughead story.  
**

 **Thank you to everyone who's read, favourited, reviewed, kudo dropped etc between FF and AO3. It means a lot, and I'm so happy you've enjoyed this story of free-spirited Betty finding her way! We're jumping another six months into the future as we say goodbye.**

 **Disclaimer: Not my sandbox, just stealing the toys for a while. This story is a hard T.**

* * *

 ** _Six months later_**

"JB! Don't forget your lunch!"

A slender teen, her long black hair in loose curls, popped her head out of the bathroom and flashed a thumbs up as she brushed her teeth. " _Mah Moat!_ " she mumbled around the handle.

"Dad will be here tonight at six," Jughead continued, tucking the last of his belongings into his suitcase. "We'll be gone until Monday morning, but the number for the hotel is on the fridge if you guys run into any issues."

He heard her spit and rinse the sink. "Jug, I'm sixteen, not six! You can totally go bone Betty all weekend uninterrupted."

He felt his cheeks burning in embarrassment. "JB!"

"What? You're grown-ass adults. You have sex. Loud sex. I'm not an idiot." She smirked as she joined him in the living room, grabbing her school bag. "Brother mine, it's fine. She makes you happy, which means she makes _me_ happy. And you _definitely_ make her happy—"

"Enough, Forsythia!" His hand clamped over her mouth, silencing her teasing. "We're not that bad."

She yanked away from him, tossing her backpack over her shoulder. "Not since Betty bought me those noise-cancelling headphones, you're not."

"Ugh!"

"You love me!" JB chirped, heading into the kitchen to examine her lunch. "Ooh, Betty hooked me up with leftover meatloaf! Hell yeah."

He did love his sister dearly. Even if she was a complete pain in his ass.

Jughead had been granted permanent custody of Forsythia "Jellybean" Jones six months ago, under no contest from their mother and with the blessing of social services. Her grades had improved dramatically in the time she'd lived with him, which had strengthened his case. The clinching factor: Betty accompanying them to court, advising that they would be moving in together, providing further stability to the household.

God, he loved her.

Betty and JB had grown incredibly close over the last year, often ganging up against him to control the TV or simply to tease him. Betty's love of baking had also won over the ever-hungry tummies of the Jones clan, cementing her status as a beloved family member. With his father helping them out as they booked gigs with Sweetwater or simply needed time alone, they'd made their relationship work around the new responsibility of raising a teenager. The fact it had been such a smooth transition was a testament to the love and patience of Betty.

"Alright, I'm gone," JB announced, kissing his cheek. "Have an amazing weekend in Chicago!"

"Thanks, JB. Love you."

"Love you too. I'll be _fine_! Dad and I are going to order pizza, watch gorey horror movies and probably eat all of the cookies Betty left us in a single sitting. No big deal."

And with that, his sister hurried out the door to the waiting car of Veronica Lodge, whose internship was one block from the high school. Veronica waved from her Lexus, her hair perfectly swept into a French twist. He waved back, watching them pull away.

 _It really takes a village_ , he mused. Veronica drove his sister to school three times each week. Archie was their all-purpose favour guy, be it bringing takeout on hectic days or making late-night pickups at the movie theatre when Jughead was working night shifts at the local paper. And "Auntie Toni and Auntie Cheryl" as they preferred to be addressed? Makeovers, spa time and trips to the park to practice JB's photography. Cheryl had gifted her with a top of the line digital SLR camera and several lenses, insisting she was too rich to notice the money spent.

Each of them treated JB as their own family, ensuring she never went without love or aid. It meant the world to him.

With one last round of the home to ensure all was tidy and everything was packed, he headed out to run errands, including the procurement of a very particular gift for a very special woman. It was their anniversary tomorrow, after all…

* * *

Betty was currently in a hell of her own making, having made the mistake of asking Cheryl Blossom, maple syrup heiress, for assistance in looking extra-beautiful for her anniversary weekend.

Her hair was in large rollers, now scented with products that involved some flower she couldn't pronounce, coconut milk and AHA, whatever that was. Her feet were soaking in a warm tub with jets pulsing beneath her heels and her right hand was being massaged by a spa worker who assured her this was her everyday job.

"Relax, Betty!"

She shot a sideways glance at Toni, who was currently selecting a vibrant fuchsia polish for her own manicure. "You're used to this. I am not."

Toni snorted, leaning closer. "I grew up so poor, ramen was expensive for us. I'm still not used to this. But Cheryl says she wants me to feel like a princess, because I make her feel like one. Like an even trade: I give her the love she never had, and she treats me to everything I could never afford. Think of this as her showing you love. It's easier."

Betty sighed. She would try, but this still felt a bit much, kind of like the time Cheryl had flown in their family for their show with Metric. When she'd asked for Cheryl's help, she was thinking more along the lines of a blow-out and maybe some high-end cosmetics from Sephora to splurge on. And she certainly did not expect to be ordered to put her wallet away.

"It's our anniversary tomorrow, too!" Cheryl had rebuked her. "Which means you can't tell me no. I want you to let me spoil you."

Cheryl was unpredictable. Her unusually wealthy upbringing had bred a certain air in her, although she was fiercely loving of those she deemed family. When stressed, she could be blunt and abrupt, but beneath the surface, she was a quiet woman who loved to laugh and drink wine over dinner.

She also had a protective streak that was not to be trifled with. Two months ago, some drunken jerk had grabbed Betty's ass during their set. Before a furious Jughead could even drop his sticks, Cheryl had thrown a drink in his face and kicked him square, sending him crumpling to the ground.

"Hands off, Neanderthal!" she'd snapped, jabbing her designer heel deep into his groin.

From then on, they'd joked that Cheryl was their head of security, although the fiery beauty had taken her duties seriously. If she wasn't satisfied with a venue's security, she would place one of her personal handlers at the stage, ordering him to protect the band. It was surreal, but a gesture full of kindness, so they embraced it.

The attendant tapped Betty's palm, gesturing to the collection of polishes available. Frowning at the options, she nudged Toni.

"Where's Cheryl?"

"Right here," came a voice from behind them. "Hello, TT," she cooed, kissing Toni's cheek.

"Cheryl, I'm shit at this stuff. Which one goes with my dress?"

Her practiced eye studied the selection, tilting her head slightly. "Third row, second from the left. It's a shade lighter, which will be complementary."

The manicurist went to work on Betty's nails as she watched Toni and Cheryl whisper and giggle. They were a perfect match: both headstrong, loyal and spirited. They lived in the moment, but never took each other for granted. She'd learned to be more like them in her own life, reminding herself of how Polly had almost been lost. She told people she loved them every day, took chances, and enjoyed life as much as she could.

"So, what are we doing once we arrived in Chicago?" Toni asked.

"Well, we will be checking into The Langham, where we shall change into our evening attire and head out to Monteverde for dinner. After that, I've commissioned a private party boat to take us out for an evening cruise off the pier. Beyond that… I'm certain you can amuse yourselves until Monday," Cheryl purred.

"Oh, you will be very much occupied," Toni assured her with a wink.

Betty gulped, apologizing as her fingers flinched in the attendant's hand. "It all sounds very… extravagant."

"Nothing more than my loved ones deserve," Cheryl insisted. "I need to have my hair treatment now, but I'll see you both in an hour?"

"Hurry back, babe." Toni beckoned her closer, kissing her girlfriend's cheek before reluctantly allowing her to depart.

"You two are so good together. I'm so happy for you, Toni."

Toni beamed, teasing out her pink curls. "She's my everything. And I have you to thank, Betty."

"Me?" Betty tilted her head askance. "I don't follow."

"Well, if you hadn't agreed to hang out at the Wyrm with me, I probably would have found _someone_ to be my date for the night," Toni explained. "Instead, you agreed to come hang out, and I was able to introduce dear Jughead to a perfect woman for him. If I'd been _occupied_ , I never would have noticed Cheryl crying outside the bar with her dead phone. Ergo, I not only used my mad matchmaker skills and introduced you to your honey, I found my own thanks to my selfless act."

Betty laughed, reaching for the champagne beside her. "Alright, I'll give that one to you. The stars were definitely aligned for all of us, it seems."

"I'm going to marry her," Toni blurted out. "I'd do it tomorrow, but she's been hurt by so many people, I'm giving her time to realize that I'll never leave her alone. But someday, it'll happen."

"Oh, Toni, don't you see how she looks at you? She knows you're for keeps. I'll be shocked if she doesn't fly you to an island by the end of the year," Betty insisted.

"Ahhh!" Toni's feet kicked in her chair, much to the dismay of her attendant. "That's totally what she would do. And I'm ready. Any day, any time. I'm hers. What about you and Jug?"

"What about us?" Betty deflected.

"Dum, dum, da-dum!" Toni sang. "C'mon, you've thought of it, haven't you?"

The blonde flushed, downing her champagne. "I haven't. Not really."

Toni frowned, leaning in. "Hey, is my boy not treating you right? Because I will kick his ass, no questions asked."

"No, no! Juggie is… he's amazing. I love him so much, Toni. I just..." Betty shifted in her seat, ensuring her left hand stayed still. "I can't help but think that I'm not good enough for him. And I _know_ that's my mother's perfectionism in my head, this stupid voice that questions everything. But I'm trying to just let life happen. I'm not going anywhere. I don't think he is, either, even if I'm afraid. But I don't need a ring to prove that. A ring didn't keep my parents together, or his. Waking up every day with him, that's all the proof I need."

"I get that. Jug took it hard when his folks split up. He lost his sister and his mother without warning. Gladys just drove off in the night, abandoning him." The venom in Toni's voice made her opinion of his mother abundantly clear. "But I told you the night you met, right? He couldn't stop staring at you. Like you were a barrel of water after he'd crossed a desert, you know?"

"Like I said, irrational anxiety."

"What if he did show up one night with a ring? Like there you are, just eating a burger at Pop's and bam! A ring box and good ol' Jug on one knee. Or no, a ring on your milkshake straw!"

The two of them broke into laughter, because it was true: if anyone ever proposed with a milkshake, it would be Jughead.

"I'm never gonna look at a shake the same way, T! Thanks a lot!"

"I'm here to amuse. But seriously, Betty: what if?"

"Well first, I hope I don't slurp the ring down with a milkshake!" Betty giggled, shaking her head. "But of course I'd marry him. He knows everything about me, good and bad. He brings out the best in me. He already has my heart forever. I'll happily make that promise official if he wants to."

"Miss Cooper?" Betty glanced up, recognizing her stylist. "Your nails are done. If you'd like to follow me, we'll get those curlers out and finish your hair."

"See you on the other side, T!"

Unbeknownst to Betty, her friend was on her phone as soon as she left the room. It rang twice before the call was answered.

"You've got nothing to worry about," Toni announced with a smug smile upon her lips.

Unbeknownst to Toni, however, Betty bore a mischievous grin of her own in the other room…

* * *

It had taken several traffic miracles and an assist from Veronica, but Jughead had made it to private airfield of Blossom Industries with a minute to spare. His suit was slightly rumpled in back, but his hair was combed as neatly as it ever allowed and his gift for Betty was safely stowed in his interior jacket pocket. A stern man greeted him on arrival, inspecting his driver's licence and nodding to the posted security to open the gate.

"Ms. Blossom has instructed that your vehicle be secured at this facility until your return Sunday afternoon. It will be kept in hangar three, alongside Ms. Blossom's vehicles."

 _Vehicles? Plural?_ "Um, yes, that's fine."

"Pull up to the hangar. You will be shuttled to the jet."

Jughead complied, still ruminating over the notion of owning enough cars to necessitate a hangar. Yeah, he knew Cheryl was wealthy, but this spoke to a whole new level, far beyond even Veronica's very comfortable upbringing. His bags were retrieved at the hangar by a valet and stowed in a modest limousine for the two-minute drive to the family's jet.

For the guy who'd grown up stealing food from unfinished meals, it was unsettling, with a touch of inferiority complex. Anxiety crept up on him, a stealthy intruder slipping through the back window of his mind and rummaging through his memories at a dizzying pace. Closing his eyes, he took a grounding breath.

 _It's okay to let people help you. You deserve to be cared for._

The limousine halted and his eyes flew open, taking in the jet and a visibly impatient redhead standing at the foot of the steps. Her blood-red dress was elegant and hugged her body from its halter neckline to her ankles. It reminded him of something a movie star would wear and confirmed that splurging on a nicer suit was the right call, even if his Visa wasn't thrilled with his life choices. He hurried out of the car and flashed an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry, Cheryl. It took a bit longer than planned and—"

"Is it perfect?"

Jughead hesitated, then nodded. "I think so. It feels right."

"Then you're forgiven!" To his surprise, Cheryl enveloped him in a warm embrace, patting his back in a reassuring manner. "Breathe, Jughead. You look like you're going to hurl."

"I'm breathing, I think."

"Let's board. We have dinner reservations and while my family is well-known to the establishment, I'd prefer not to be tardy."

He followed her up the steps, his grip tightening upon the rail as he consciously acknowledged that this was the first time he'd ever flown in a plane of any kind. And while he wasn't afraid of flying per se, the unknown was perfect fodder for his omnipresent fear to feast upon.

Stepping into the cabin, however, it all fell away.

Betty turned around as he entered and her radiant smile cut through the shadows in his skull. Her honeyed hair cascaded down in large, looping curls that looked sinfully soft and her green eyes were dusted in a soft grey shadow. Jughead whistled low, rocking back on his heels as he admired his stunning girlfriend. Trimmed in a deep orange along the thin straps and the wraparound that tied just beneath her bust, the royal blue dress flared slightly from the waist into an asymmetrical hemline that offered a tantalizing glimpse of her left leg as she flexed her knee. And those heels… dear God, the image of her in nothing _but_ those heels was dizzying.

"There you are!" she greeted him, pressing her lips to his. "I was starting to think you got lost."

"A little turned around, but I made it. Wow!" He stepped back, toying with her curls. "You look stunning, Betts."

"Thank you. You clean up very nicely, Mr. Jones," she purred.

They settled into their seats at Cheryl's insistence, the heiress settling in beside Toni. Her magenta-streaked hair was scooped into a mass of curls at the nape of her neck, and her black cocktail dress was short and flirty. Jughead smiled as his long-time friend leaned into her girlfriend and kissed her cheek. Seeing Toni truly happy warmed his heart. Her family continued to struggle with her sexuality, but Cheryl's unconditional love had instilled a peace in his good friend that she'd seldom known.

The jet moved and Jughead's hand clenched the arm rest in surprise. Betty's hand closed over his, squeezing gently.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, just didn't expect that," he murmured.

"Well, I'm nervous, so maybe you can hold my hand until we're in the air so I feel better?"

He turned to his right, mesmerized by the beauty at his side and moved by her comforting gaze. His fingers interlaced with hers at her request.

"Well, if you insist…"

Her head came to rest upon his shoulder as the jet taxied down the strip. "Happy anniversary weekend, Juggie."

"The happiest anniversary weekend, Betts."

In the back of his mind, Jughead was acutely aware of the ornate box hidden in his pocket, just inches from Betty's hand…

* * *

The water of Lake Michigan was still as Cheryl's hired cruise ship set off from Navy Pier. Their dinner at Monteverde had been _exquisite_ , as Cheryl would say, and the wine the heiress had brought to their table was the perfect accompaniment a meal filled with laughter. And while Betty was certainly a bit tipsy, she was well aware of the suit-clad man at her side.

"It's beautiful out here, Juggie," she whispered, staring up at a sky full of stars.

"Cheryl's outdone herself," he agreed, draping his arm around her bare shoulders. "You cold?"

"No, the wine's keeping me warm."

Betty sipped the glass of wine Cheryl had poured for her upon boarding and leaned into Jughead. Their companions had taken the upper deck, seeking a little romantic time of their own. The cruise was slated to last an hour, making a lazy loop out from Navy Pier and returning to the dock. From there, two limousines would await, taking each couple wherever their hearts desired.

Jughead had been quieter than usual during dinner, although hardly inattentive. If anything, he'd been more prone to PDA than usual, frequently leaning in to kiss her cheek or graze her thigh with his palm. She sensed that the extravagance of Cheryl's plans was overwhelming him, given his upbringing, but there was something else eating away at him. Betty had her theories, but if she was wrong, perhaps their time alone on the water would encourage him to open up.

"If someone had told me a year ago that I'd be on a private jet to Chicago tonight, eating at a high-end restaurant with the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on, I would have recommended a psychiatric evaluation for them," Jughead mused aloud.

"I know. Cheryl's idea of a quick spa trip involved a massage, hair treatment, and a mani-pedi, including a hand massage," Betty replied, shaking her head. "I still don't know what half of the stuff they used was."

"Cheryl doesn't know the meaning of _simple_." Jughead chuckled quietly to himself as the boat moved slowly through the inky water. "She deals in fairytale evenings."

Betty drained her wine glass and gestured to the nearby bottle. "Indeed, right down to this ridiculously good wine." Stepping away to refill her glass, she drew a steadying breath before continuing. "The whole year's been a fairytale, don't you think?"

"I'd say it's been better than that."

Betty felt her cheeks flush slightly as she turned around to face her boyfriend, who was grinning widely. "Better than a fairytale?"

"Well, yeah. Because in stories, there's some magical wish or wand or sexist twist that leads to the happy ending," he elaborated. "But everything we have together, Betts? We work for it. We juggle school, work, band practice and caring for a teenager, and I've never been happier in my entire life."

Her left hand absently tucked her hair behind her ear as her lips curved into a smile. "It's better because it's real," she concluded, taking a step closer.

"Exactly. Us? You see me, _really_ see me, and you're still here. God, I remember you walking into that courtroom six months ago and calmly informing the judge—and me—that you were moving in and would be raising JB at my side." Setting his wine aside, his palms gripped her shoulders as he studied her face. "I didn't think it was possible to love you more than I did, but at that moment, I was proven wrong."

"Well, it's not like I was spending much time in my apartment anymore," she teased gently. "But you see me too, Jughead. From the very start, you saw _me_. And no matter how much my mind runs away with me, no matter how hard it is sometimes to let go of the past, you make sure I listen to my heart."

Right now, it was pounding within her ribs, a fierce and frenetic drumming that swelled to crashing cymbals as she lost herself in his warm gaze. And while she was afraid of what she had to tell him next, she didn't fear the vulnerability of speaking her truth to him.

His hand gently caressed her cheek, sliding along her skin to cup her chin. "What is your heart telling you right now?"

Knocking back half of her wine to steel herself, she sat her glass aside and reached for his hand. Placing it over her heart, she mirrored the action, pressing her palm to his chest.

"You ground me, Jughead. I'm never sure if you realize how much strength I draw from it. But you're the percussion in my life. The steady beat that moves me forward. Do you feel it?"

He nodded slightly, leaning in until his forehead met hers. "And you're the perfect chord. Betty—"

Her finger pressed to his lips, silencing him. "Will you tell me your name tonight? The whole thing?"

She knew now that his legal first name was Forsythe—he'd whispered it to her the night they'd reunited after hours of lovemaking. But his middle name had remained elusive, and his government ID conveniently omitted it.

"I'm surprised JB hasn't told you already."

Betty shrugged. "Well, considering her name is Forsythia, I assume she's empathetic to your dislike of it. So, will you?"

With an exaggerated sigh, he leaned to her left and whispered: "Forsythe Pendleton Jones… the Third."

"I can see why you keep that to yourself," she murmured as she traced his jawline. "Thank you for telling me." His lips parted, as if to speak, but she silenced him anew with her index finger. "Shh. I have something important to say, and it's not easy for me."

Visibly concerned, he ran his hand through his hair roughly. "What is it?"

 _Well, here goes_.

Beneath the Chicago stars, the floor beneath them shifting side to side as the ship charted its course, Betty did something she'd wanted to do for three months, but had let Old Betty talk her out of: "Forsythe Pendleton Jones, will you marry me?"

His reaction was nerve-wracking, but equally enthralling: she'd stunned him into silence, albeit one accompanied by a rapid shift in facial expressions. Disbelief first, then a questioning look that she met with a firm nod and a smile. And then, her heart sang out as his perfect lips curved upwards in a wide arc.

"Did-did you just propose?"

"Are you accepting?" she countered playfully.

Shaking his head, he broke into a hearty chuckle as his left hand slipped inside his pocket and quickly revealed a velvet ring box. "Is this an extreme example of great minds?"

Opening the box, he revealed a princess cut diamond that stole her breath away. While she'd suspected Jughead was thinking of proposing, the reality of it and the beautiful ring he'd chosen were overwhelming. Luckily, she was able to maintain enough composure to speak.

"I'm studying investigative journalism, and Toni is not as subtle as she thinks. And you still haven't answered me."

Taking her left hand in his, he slid the gleaming ring onto her finger. "I want nothing more than to marry you, Elizabeth Cooper."

It didn't matter that she'd actually popped the damn question. It didn't matter that he'd bought her a ring. She needed the words, needed that overt affirmation that this caring man wanted to marry _her_. It was suddenly _real_ and Betty found herself shrieking in joy as she threw herself into his arms.

From the upper deck came a shout from a mutual friend with magenta hair: "Did she say yes?"

"No, I did!" Jughead replied.

"WAIT, WHAT?"

"She beat me to it!"

"Hey, Toni, I'm trying to make out with my fiancé down here. Save your questions for the end of the boat ride!" Betty called out.

Her lips crashed into his as Cheryl's voice boomed from above: "I fucking called it!"

* * *

"You may have beaten me to the proposal, but I still have a surprise planned for us," he'd told Betty as they returned to the hotel. "Change into something more comfortable. We're going back out."

Intrigued, Betty had slipped into a pair of jeans and her favourite t-shirt: the grey one Jughead had left at her apartment on that first night. She'd made a few adjustments, given its large size: the neckline had been cut to a scooped off the shoulder look, the sleeves trimmed and cuffed smaller. She'd also cut a slit in the right side, allowing her to tie the tee and create a form-fitting, asymmetrical look.

Equally low-key in a black tee and jeans, they'd slipped inside their limo and headed to the Lincoln Park area of the city, stopping at a nondescript building that bore the name _Delilah's_. Betty stepped out onto the curb, slowly connecting the dots as she caught a glimpse of the interior. Jughead had brought her to a dive bar, in the best sense of the term.

"How did you find this place?"

"A hell of a lot of Google," came his reply as his arm slid around her shoulder.

The place was predictably packed, a sure sign of a well-loved watering hole. They wove their way through the crowded front section, pausing only long enough to grab twin glasses of scotch on their way to a somewhat quieter back corner. David Bowie's voice was lilting just over the din. The walls were painted in designs filled with vibrant primary colours and a style reminiscent of traditional tattoo artistry.

"What do you think?"

Betty leaned in to kiss his cheek. "I love it!"

They found an empty table and settled in, time flying by in quiet conversation and banter about music. Occasionally, her hand drifted across the table to hold his, her diamond ring sparkling as it caught the light. _We're engaged_. Every time she spotted it, her heart fluttered happily.

She had yet to tell anyone, aside from Polly. Her sister had immediately replied with a series of exclamation marks and heart emojis. They'd discussed it on the boat and had mutually decided that they would share the news in the morning.

"One night for us," he suggested. "Like the night we met."

How could she argue with that logic? That one night had changed everything. She'd followed a stranger to a bar and found the love of her life. He was her complement, her every fear eased by his presence and her strengths the salve to his hurting heart. It seemed only fitting that their engagement take the same form. Speaking of that night, she had an old score to settle.

"I have an idea." Knocking back the rest of her scotch, she gestured behind Jughead to an old pool table. "Care to make a friendly wager?"

Following her gaze, he smirked. "Sure. Name your terms."

"If I win, you have to sing with me at karaoke next week," she proposed, twisting her curls loosely over her shoulder.

"And if I win, you're dancing on a table tonight," he countered confidently.

Jughead allowed her to break once more, insisting that she needed the advantage. Betty rolled her eyes as she chalked her cue and set up for her first shot.

"Not like it's going to end well for you," he teased as she sunk the solid orange ball in the corner pocket.

"Hey! I have a lot more practice now," Betty protested, cursing the terrible distribution on the table.

She tried, she really did, but her second shot just missed sinking her targeted purple ball. With a wink, Jughead moved around the table, studying his options.

"Yeah, but I was holding back last time," he informed her with a mischievous grin.

"No! No, you told me that you were trying to win," Betty protested.

"Not at first, but when you actually started holding your own, I stepped it back up." He sunk the yellow striped ball with a smooth shot before circling to her side of the table.

The blonde flushed crimson, shaking her head in disbelief. "I knew it! You totally were a shark that night."

"You were a beginner and I grew up playing pool. I was also very infatuated with you. Of _course_ I held back a little!"

The game was close, but Jughead's experience was ultimately her undoing. And there she was, a woman with a glass of scotch in her hand, facing down another table dance. She played the only card she had, lips perfectly pouted.

"This ain't the Whyte Wyrm, Juggie. They'll throw us out if we get up there."

His fingers threaded through her hair, pulling her in for an intense kiss that left her breathless and rocking on her heels. "That's why I slipped the bartender fifty bucks to ignore our antics," he whispered in her ear.

 _Goddamn it!_ Oh well, at least she was dancing to Barracuda, a flawless song with vocals she'd kill to be able to sing. With a steady hand to cling to, Betty climbed up onto the nearest table and let her hips sway and shimmy to the pulsing beat. It couldn't have been more than thirty seconds before he was tugging on her arm.

"I've changed my mind," he explained hurriedly. "You're too damn sexy and I need to take you back to the hotel, _now_."

"Nuh uh uh, I won't renege on our bet," she teased, flipping her hair back.

Jughead groaned, his lustful gaze enthralling her as she rested her heel on his shoulder and rotated her hips. "Screw the hotel room, I'm ravaging you in the limo."

"Is that a minute?" she purred.

"Yes, yes, definitely yes. Get down here." His hands gripped her by the waist, lifting her off the table and into his waiting arms. "We need to go," he growled, yanking her taut against his groin.

Judging from the throbbing against her, he wasn't exaggerating. _Hmm, never done it in a limo before_ , she thought, swallowing hard as his mouth found her neck, sucking firmly on her pale flesh. Her only regret was not wearing a skirt.

"Take me… home," she whispered.

"Plan on it," he growled, ushering her out of the bar.

Their ride back to the hotel was filled with impatient hands and frantic kisses. Betty's shirt somehow came untied at her side as she threw caution to the wind and straddled his lap on the drive. Jughead's hand fisted in her hair, eliciting a satisfied moan against his open mouth. And while logistics foiled her from losing her limo virginity, she managed to work her hand inside his jeans and assure him of her plans for their hotel suite.

Time fell away the moment the key card admitted them to their private sanctuary in an echo of that fateful night one year prior. Shirts flew across the room, jeans stripped away in haste and kicked away in a consuming need for each other. Her hands slid along his bare chest as if it were the first time—and in a way, it was. It was her first time touching the man she was committed to marrying, and that promise lent a gravity to their lovemaking.

Every caress was electric, every kiss fevered, and when their bodies joined, Betty swore her heart stopped.

"I love you." His messy curls were damp as he leaned over her, his irises dark with want. "I will never stop loving you."

"I love you," she echoed as her fingertips danced along his arm.

Her heart was the drummer now, a furious, steady beat as he began to move over her. Her back arched, craving consumption. She was a spark ignited, his every touch a fuse dancing in the flame's periphery. Roaming hands clawed his back as her hips mirrored his and she took a special delight in the sharp gasp of her lover as she hitched her knees higher.

She wanted all of him. Tonight, tomorrow, until the day she died.

A hungry mouth found hers as his hand slipped between them and teased her to the brink. If her body was an instrument, he was a prodigy. And as she broke off their kiss, breathlessness and burning beneath him, he pressed his head to hers.

"Keep your eyes open," he murmured. "As long as you can."

Betty obeyed, her hands cupping his cheeks as she felt her body coiling within. Blue and green, sky and earth. She lost herself in the piercing blue as he drew the song from within her. _I love you. I need you. I'm yours._ A simple refrain but a symphony of sound as they met their crescendo and fell into each other's arms. Her name fell from his lips in a soft gasp of a prayer and she clung to him as he rolled onto his side.

"It's after midnight… Happy anniversary, Juggie," she whispered.

"Happy engagement, Betts," he replied, kissing her nose.

"You know, this seems to be a good day for us," Betty mused. "September 15th."

Propping himself up on his elbow, Jughead tilted his head askance. "Are you suggesting something, Betts?"

"I'm just saying, I enjoy being consistent." She giggled as his fingers drifted feather-light over her hip. "No tickling!"

"Well, it would be a Sunday next week," he ceded. "It does seem fated."

"Like us."

His lips found her anew, delicate and soft. "Like us," he agreed lovingly. "I would have some conditions for getting married in a year."

Intrigued, Betty propped herself up with a pillow. "Let's have them."

"The wedding has to be small. Elopement is ideal. Crowds and attention make me uncomfortable." At her raised eyebrow, he sighed. "It's different in the band. You and Archie command the bulk of the attention."

"Alright, that's fair. I can do intimate," she assented. "Your next condition?"

"My legal name does not get revealed to anyone not already in the know."

"Counter-proposal, since I just know how my mother will react to a wedding invitation with _Jughead_ on it. You follow your father on this one and we leave your name as FP Jones on the invites, but they'll address you as Jughead in the ceremony."

He mulled this over for a long moment. "I can live with that. But if anyone asks what it stands for, you tell them it's a mystery that will remain unsolved."

"Deal! Anything else?"

His hand found hers, fingers interlacing with a gentle squeeze. "If you're going to write a song about this, I get to see the lyrics before you spring it on the band at practice, alright?"

Feigning exasperation, Betty rolled him onto his back. " _Fiiiiiiiine_. You certainly drive a hard bargain, Mr. Jones."

"And you were already writing lyrics in your head, weren't you, Ms. Cooper?"

Swiping the damp hair from his forehead, she shook her head. "Some things are too complex for the written word to convey."

As he pulled her on top of him with a murmured declaration of love, Betty did what she'd been doing since the night they met: she surrendered her body to the music.

* * *

 **One last time: I'd love to hear from you. Did the lovelies get the ending they deserved?  
**

 **Now that this story's over, what will you read? Well, I do need to take a break to focus on a certification course for work, a vacation and some personal matters. I also need to finish a Bones anthology, for those who watch that show too. As promised to one reader, I'm hoping to write more 1-3 shots in future featuring other couples as well, including Choni.**

 **If you need a book to cozy up with in the fall weather, I write books about young women overcoming painful trauma and finding love (and solving murders). Remind you of anyone? Change of Season is out there (author A.C. Dillon).**

 **Again, thank you for reading!**


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